


Because He Needs Me

by dreamsofspike



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-20 21:36:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 67
Words: 183,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9517172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamsofspike/pseuds/dreamsofspike
Summary: Set in Season 6, after most of the dark badness between Spike and Buffy has happened. Spike disappears, and Buffy finds him - drastically changed, brutally damaged and only slightly resembling his former self. She must help him recover while dealing with their past issues, and trying to figure out who did this to him in the first place.





	1. Chapter 1

“Spike.”

 

The single spoken word held a depth of anger and hatred that would have made an average man’s blood run cold just to hear it – knowing that such fury was aimed in his direction.

 

Fortunately, Spike was not by any means an average man – and his blood *already* ran cold.

 

A sardonic smirk rose on his lips before he turned around to face the source of the all-too-familiar familiar voice. The intruder glared at him with a murderous rage in his eyes, stalking across the crypt floor toward the, to all appearances, completely unaffected blonde vampire. Apparently – the person standing in the doorway did not exactly inspire fear for Spike.

 

Or maybe – Spike was just too drunk to care.

 

He tipped the half-empty bottle in his hand in a mocking greeting to his uninvited guest, the smirk on his lips not quite reaching his haunted, pain-filled eyes. It was too soon – too close to the moment when his heart had been most recently shattered – for him to even give a second thought to the man staring at him with such hatred, or what his intentions might be.

 

“Thought you’d be here sooner,” Spike remarked flippantly. “It’s been – how long has it been?” he shrugged, dismissing the answer to the question as unimportant  – especially with his mind too clouded to do the math at the moment. “Took you that long to work up the nerve to face me, you soddin’…?”

 

His question was suddenly cut off as his enemy reached him, striking out without hesitation across his face in a brutal blow with his fist.

 

“I’m gonna kill you, Spike,” he announced quietly, in a low, dark voice, as the vampire recovered his footing, but made no move to strike back. At the moment, maintaining his own balance was about all that Spike seemed to be able to manage.

 

“You’re gonna try,” Spike corrected him, all traces of amusement vanished from his glittering blue eyes. “No guarantees on the outcome, mate.” He shrugged casually before adding, “Can’t see why you think you’re entitled to the attempt, anyway, truth be told. Not like you’ve got any bloody claim on the girl anymore. *You* left her – remember? Really now, it wasn’t so very long ago. Can’t see how you can blame *me* for your own poor judgment in passing up a treasure like her…”

 

“Shut up, Spike.” The words were ground out in a dangerously trembling voice of barely restrained rage, as his attacker took another menacing step toward him.

 

“Been saying that to me for years,” Spike observed with a slightly slurred laugh that bordered on an actual giggle – not that he really cared. The same drink that had caused the sound to come out that way, also prevented him from caring *how* he sounded. “Think one of these times it’ll actually take?”

 

“This time I’m gonna *make* it take,”  the other countered furiously, striking out against him again, this time hard enough to knock Spike backward against the wall of his crypt, hard enough to give him at the very least a splitting headache, if not to crack his skull.

 

But the vampire was feeling no pain at the moment.

 

“Come on, mate,” Spike laughed as he awkwardly steadied himself again, almost reluctantly tossing the bottle aside and taking on a ridiculous parody of his usual fighting stance – ridiculous because of the unhealthy amount of alcohol-induced stumble and stagger that replaced his usual swaggering grace. “Let’s give it a go then, if you’re that set on a fight…I’ll make it quick…”

 

The surprised amusement in his opponent’s dark laugh should have given him warning that all was not as simple as it appeared to be – but Spike’s judgment and perception were both hampered at the moment, and he noticed nothing off about the situation. As far as he was concerned, this was a fight that had been in the making for years – and he was more than ready to take on the man that stood before him, poised and ready, intent on taking him down.

 

As determined as he was to finally put the blonde vampire in his place, Spike was just as determined not to let him – regardless of history, regardless of certain facts which were most definitely not in his favor. Whether or not he really had a chance, Spike was not about to back down from this or any fight.

 

“Look at you!” the intruder sneered, incredulous that the vampire actually seemed to think that he was in any condition to defend himself at all. “You really think you can take me on like this? Look at yourself! You’re a wreck!” He paused, giving Spike a derisive up and down look before adding coldly, “How long have you been sitting here wallowing in alcohol and your own pathetic, worthless state?”

 

Spike’s eyes narrowed in anger as he snarled back, “You oughta know about the wallowing – not to mention the pathetic state – shouldn’t you, mate?”

 

“I’m not your mate,” the man snapped back, his voice seething with fury. “How about I help you with that little self pity problem, Spike? Do us both a favor and send you to where you belong?”

 

“By all means,” Spike replied without a moment’s hesitation. “You’re more than welcome to try – if you think you stand a bloody chance of beating me.”

 

“Hasn’t been that long since I’ve beaten you, Spike,” the man reminded him, a cold threat in his voice as he moved slowly closer to him.

 

“Well – yeah,” Spike admitted with a little half-shrug. “But as I recall, you had a bit of an unfair advantage at the time, didn’t you?”

 

“Doesn’t matter,” was the cold reply. “Cheap shot – who cares? I’ll take it – just to see you go down.”

 

If Spike had been just a bit more sober, he would have noticed several things long before he actually did – the tremble of pain and betrayal in the voice of his attacker, betraying a deep-rooted desire for vengeance that would not allow the man to let this thing go easily…the blind hatred and fury in his dark eyes that revealed no trace of compassion or pity for the vampire’s obvious state of disadvantage…

 

…or the small, black pistol that suddenly appeared in his opponent’s hand.

 

“Yeah,” Spike sneered, bouncing slightly – although without his usual grace – on his heels, itching for the fight that his opponent had promised. “You’re good at taking those cheap shots, aren’t you? About the only ones you can get, aren’t…”

 

The shot rang out, echoing against the stone walls of the crypt until Spike wasn’t sure whether it was the thunder of the gunshot, or the roaring in his ears, that drowned out the harsh laughter of the one who had pulled the trigger. When the haze of pain from the bullet that had torn through his stomach began to fade away, Spike struggled to open his eyes, realizing with sudden, sobered alarm that he was on his knees, on the floor of his crypt.

 

He quickly scrambled to his feet, biting his lip against the pain of the movement, as he simply struggled to place himself once again on the same level as his attacker.

 

“Yeah – guess you *would* need that to take me on, wouldn’t you?” he taunted him between harsh, ragged breaths, his right hand clutching the bleeding wound in his stomach, while his left hand braced against the wall of the crypt to help him stay on his feet. “No bleedin’ way you could take me in a fair fight…not like that’s gonna kill me though…”

 

The small smile that rose on the lips of the shooter was in no way pleasant or reassuring, as he countered softly, “Who says I want you dead?”

 

“*You* did, you bleedin’ wanker!” Spike pointed out, gasping for breath as he leaned back against the wall for a moment, trying to regain his bearings – and a bit of control over the situation. “Told me you were gonna see me dust, didn’t you? Don’t think you’re gonna do it with *that* thing!”

 

The expression on the gunman’s face did not change as he repeated his last statement, amending it slightly, “Who says I want you dead – *yet*?”

 

Spike did not allow the chill that those words sent down his spine to show in his face, as he forced a slow smirk to his face, standing up straight again, despite the pain shooting from his stomach throughout the rest of his body.

 

All at once – he felt very sober.

 

“Cute,” he remarked with a false unconcern. “Very cute, mate – but the whole bloody Bond movie villain routine went out with – well – Bond movies. If you wanna fight – then fight…but enough with the games, yeah?”

 

“You’re one to talk about games.” A bitter laugh followed the words. “After what you did – how you stole her from me – when you didn’t even care…”

 

“Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t,” Spike countered, his eyes narrowed defiantly. “Not really any of your business, is it? At any rate – seems I cared a sight more’n you did, doesn’t it?”

 

The gun in the man’s hand steadied, taking aim on the vampire’s chest again – but he did not say a word in response to Spike’s quiet taunt.

 

“Unless you’ve got wood-tipped bullets in there – and I *really* don’t think you do, judging by the first round – your weapon’s not your most effective choice, mate…” Spike started in again – mostly just trying to distract his opponent enough to allow him time and opportunity to regain the upper hand.

 

*Who’re you kiddin’, mate?* he admitted to himself grimly. *Ever since you allowed him to walk in on you here, pissed out of your mind – you never *had* the upper hand in this little scenario to begin with…*

 

“She was mine.” The quiet, emphatic statement drew Spike out of his thoughts, his eyes back to the resolute face of the intruder. “Mine, Spike – and you just had to put your hands on her – had to…”

 

“Woman’s not a possession, mate – not a thing you can own, ‘less of course she lets you. And after the way you tossed her away – can’t blame the girl for looking elsewhere, can you now? Way I see it – you’re the one to blame…”

 

“Shut up, Spike!” he was cut off again with a menacing snarl, as the man holding the gun closed the gap between them, drawing back the gun and bringing it down across the vampire’s face viciously, once, twice, and yet again.

 

When the blinding flashing lights faded away from his vision, Spike realized with dismay that he was once again on his knees. Apparently, the effects of the alcohol on his undead body had yet to completely wear off, after all.

 

He started to look up once again at the face of his attacker – but suddenly froze at the feeling of cold steel pressed firmly against his head, directly behind his ear and aimed at an angle so as to pass a bullet straight through his skull and out the other side, a few inches higher than the point where it would go in.

 

“You’ve taken the last thing you’re ever gonna take from me, Spike…”

 

“Oh so she’s a *thing* now, is she!” Spike shot back at him, disguising the slight tremor of fear in his voice with a laugh of false triumph. “Oh, she’d bloody well love that! Thought I was the only *thing* around here that walks and talks and rubs elbows with you lot…Besides – what the bloody hell are you talking about, last thing I’ve taken from *you*? ‘S long as I’ve bloody well known you you’ve done nothing but…”

 

The crack of the weapon against the back of his skull was loudly audible, seeming to reverberate both within and without the vampire’s head, as his head was knocked violently against the wall beside him with the force of the blow, just before he felt the muzzle of the gun pressed once again against his head.

 

The low, menacing whisper startled him with its nearness, and he jumped slightly as the voice of hateful pleasure was heard in his ear, “I said shut up, Spike.”

 

For once – Spike shut up.

 

After a moment, the gunman went on, “Everything I’ve wanted – everything that was mine – you took away, Spike. You made her want you instead of me…*you*! You’re nothing but a dead, disgusting *thing* -- and she still preferred you to me…”

 

“Now – which exactly…”

 

“Shut. Up.”

 

Another moment of heavy silence passed between them, the only sound in the room the raspy, labored breathing of the wounded vampire, and the heavy, anticipating breath of his attacker – terribly eager to exact the vengeance he felt he deserved.

 

“I don’t know what it is about you, Spike,” he mused, his voice trembling with a mixture of anger and excitement. “Don’t know what it is about you that makes them want you – even *knowing* what you are…but they do – don’t they?”

 

Spike did not bother to respond – was really not sure what he could say in this moment that would not serve to get him pistol whipped some more – or even shot again.

 

And though a bullet through the head would not necessarily kill him – not unless it was aimed with a precision that even this man certainly did not have – Spike hated to even imagine what such an injury *could* do to him.

 

“Wonder if you’d even be the same person?”

 

The softened voice of his attacker sent a sick feeling straight to the pit of Spike’s bleeding stomach – timed so perfectly with his own thoughts as to be deeply unsettling – and more than a little frightening.

 

“A bullet through the head – do vampires *get* brain damage? I mean – if it didn’t dust you…what do you think it would do?”

 

Spike was silent, swallowing hard as his mind raced and he struggled to keep a handle on his own rising fears.

 

*He’s not gonna do it,* he told himself firmly. *He wouldn’t. Even he’s not that dark – not that sadistic and twisted as to…to…* He couldn’t even finish the thought in his mind – though deep down, he knew that it was a comforting lie, designed to soothe his own fears.

 

This man *did* have just that sort of darkness in him – no matter how cleverly it was usually disguised.

 

*He wouldn’t do it – she wouldn’t like it – wouldn’t approve – wouldn’t…oh – bollocks…wouldn’t bloody well care, now, would she?* he remembered with a sinking feeling in his stomach. *Not the way she feels about me now…not after what I’ve done…Bloody hell – this is no more than I deserve, after…*I’m* the one she’ll never bloody forgive – she barely gave two cents about me *before* -- don’t wager she’s gonna care what he does to me now…*

 

Once again all too well in sync with his own thoughts, the soft whisper near his ear suddenly stilled his desperate wonderings with the weight of the three simple words.

 

“*Let’s find out*…”

 

And before he could react – before he could move or fight or object or plead…

 

…a single shot rang out in the silence of Restfield Cemetery.

 

And in Spike’s world – everything went black.


	2. Chapter 2

Three months later…

 

 

“Buffy, how can you not even *care*? Aren’t you just the littlest bit worried about him? Buffy – he’s been gone – for – for…” Dawn stopped for a moment, trying to do the math, then giving up and shaking her head before looking back up at her sister through imploring eyes, “…so *long*! What if something happened to him?”

 

“Then I guess he should have thought about that before he decided to up and leave town,” Buffy snapped back impatiently – trying very hard to maintain her façade of indifference to the fate of the vampire that, in her absence last summer, had become like a brother to Dawn.

 

But in the privacy of her mind, the thought continued, with a worried tone of frustration.

 

*…chipped – defenseless – somewhere who knows where, where I can’t even look out for him – stupid vampire!*

 

“Spike wouldn’t have just taken off like that, Buffy. He – he loves you – he wouldn’t…” Dawn’s hesitant voice trailed off completely when her sister suddenly turned to face her, a startlingly cold, bitter anger in her eyes.

 

“Don’t tell me how much he *loves* me, Dawnie. Because obviously he doesn’t. We’ve been over this before, haven’t we? I went to his crypt – and even though you’re not supposed to be going to places like that, especially on your own – I’m pretty sure you’ve seen it for yourself…”

 

Dawn made no attempt to deny the truth of her sister’s words. She *had* been to Spike’s crypt – more than once, against Buffy’s orders – and had seen for herself that the vampire had, to all appearances, left town. His clothes, his television, even the small refrigerator he had kept there to keep his blood relatively fresh – all were gone, leaving the crypt as desolate as it had been before he had moved into it.

 

All signs of life had vanished – unless of course one counted the alarming amount of spilled “life” that was clearly visible on the floor in various spots around the crypt. Dawn had been terrified to see how much blood had apparently been shed in that place – but in spite of what she saw as obvious evidence of foul play,  Buffy seemed determined to believe that nothing was out of the ordinary.

 

“He just left, Dawn,” the Slayer stated flatly, a weary sound to her voice as she rose from her seat on the couch and moved to the mantle, idly fidgeting with the items that rested there. “He just couldn’t deal, after – so – he just skipped town. That’s all there is to it.” She paused for a moment, then added quietly without turning, “Yeah. He really cares *so* much.”

 

“Buffy – there was so much blood,” Dawn’s voice was soft, slightly pleading – with an edge of fearful uncertainty to it that made Buffy finally turn to face her sister, feeling compassion and concern for *her*, even if she would not allow herself to feel it for the blonde vampire that refused to leave her thoughts.

 

“He’s a vampire, Dawn. For all we know, he just – spilled his lunch. Or – or maybe he got hurt patrolling. Spike is always getting in fights, Dawnie, you know that. But one thing’s for sure – as long as it’s blood and not a great big pile of dust – then he’s alive, Dawnie…he’s all right…”

 

“Unless someone took him somewhere – or he was trying to get help but was hurt too bad to get very far, and got caught in the sunlight…”

 

“Dawnie,” Buffy cut off her little sister’s rising, tremulous speculation, emphatically shutting down her worries, refusing to allow Dawn to see how concerned *she* really was. “He’s okay. If Spike got hurt and made it to his crypt – he wouldn’t be stupid enough to take off across the cemetery in that state – at least nowhere near morning. If the blood in his crypt was his – and it was a – a fatal injury – then there would be a big pile of dust in the crypt – honest.”

 

Buffy knew that her argument was terribly weak; she was just stretching to find some way of calming her sister’s fears – though her excuses did little to assuage her own.

 

“Spike’s not that big.”

 

Buffy shook her head slightly, drawing herself out of her thoughts with a frown of confusion. “Huh?”

 

“You keep saying -- *great big* -- pile of dust,” Dawn clarified in a soft, halting voice, not quite meeting her sister’s eyes. “Spike’s – not that big.”

 

Buffy’s heart gave a little lurch inside her at the genuine fear in her sister’s voice – the very clear subtext of her words – and she found it harder than ever to ignore the insistent little voice inside her mind, the voice that urged her to go out and look for him *just one more time*…

 

Because Dawn was right.

 

For all his Big Bad persona – not to mention his incredible fighting skills – Spike really was not all that big. There were plenty of nasty creatures out there that Buffy could imagine – or didn’t have to imagine, having faced them before – that could probably overwhelm the vampire sheerly by force of superior size and strength.

 

And the last time she had seen him – he hadn’t exactly appeared to be in top form.

 

If she knew Spike at all – and if the last few months before his disappearance had been any indication, then she certainly *did* -- he was most likely drinking heavily at this point…which would only serve to throw him further off his game. And with the chip in his head making him defenseless against humans…

 

Well, there was just any number of ways that he could have been hurt, or even dusted, in the past few months.

 

It was a thought she didn’t want to entertain.

 

Instead, she focused her attention on her little sister, standing in front of her now with tears streaking her face.

 

“Dawnie,” she said gently, her voice softening as she moved in close to wrap her arms around the trembling girl. “Honey – it’s all right. I’m sure he’s fine. He’s *Spike* -- he just -- *won’t* dust. Ever. Believe me – I’ve tried, so I should know…”

 

When that comment – not surprisingly – failed to merit so much as a smile from her sister, Buffy studied her sister’s miserable face more closely, and realized that she was very deeply shaken by the disappearance of someone that, whether Buffy liked it or not, had become one of her best friends.

 

*She’s lost too much these past few years,* she thought with a suddenly overwhelming sense of sorrow. *Dad – then Mom – then me – then Tara – and – Will and Giles both leaving – not to mention, somewhere along the way, her entire understanding of *reality*, and who she is, and now – Spike…*

 

Buffy blinked back the tears of pain and regret that inevitably followed in the wake of that train of thought, drawing on the anger she felt at a lifetime of disappointments and abandonments, and pulling it to the surface, trying to focus on that, instead of the pain.

 

It was the only way that she could survive all that had happened.

 

*When I *do* find that vampire, he’s gonna wish he’d never done this to us -- *her*,* she amended hurriedly, not really ready to admit to herself how hard Spike’s disappearance had been on *her* as well as Dawn. *If he’s alive and well and just doesn’t care to come around – or even to say goodbye – to Dawnie of course – I am *so* going to dust his white, British…sexy, gorgeous…*

 

*No!* she sternly headed off that line of thinking before it could go any further. *I meant – annoying, irritating…lying, cheating…*

 

Except – he *hadn’t* cheated – and he’d never been one to lie to her. At least – not since the last time they had actively considered each other “mortal enemies”. And even then, come to think of it, Buffy was hard pressed to think of an instance in which he had been less than honest and straightforward about his intentions – even if those intentions had not been for her good.

 

Right down to every last detail.

 

*What happens on Saturday?*

 

*I kill you.*

 

Spike was nothing if not straightforward.

 

*And you *dumped* him, Buffy,* a quiet but insistent voice in her mind reminded her.

 

*I was never *dating* him!* she insisted back, fighting back a sense of panic that inexplicably came along with the thought.

 

*You told him it was over – you told him to move on…and he did.*

 

*But – did it have to be with Anya? Did it have to be someone that I have to look at almost every day? Someone I know, so I can never really forget it, every time I’m around them? My best friend’s *fiancée*?*

 

*Ex-fiancee.*

 

*Whatever.*

 

Buffy’s internal argument was cut short as her sister’s tense body suddenly seemed to wilt, leaning into her embrace. Dawn was sniffling back tears as she leaned her head on Buffy’s shoulder and whispered, “I just – I just hope he’s okay…”

 

*So do I,* Buffy finally admitted, if only in her mind, as she silently held her sister closer to her, wishing all the while that her mother was still with them to do these mothering acts that she was still sure she had no idea how to do properly. *So do I.*

 

“He’ll be fine, Dawnie,” she said aloud, her voice firm and reassuring as she ran her fingers slowly through the younger girl’s long, dark hair. “He’s Spike,” she added simply with a slight shrug, by way of explanation. “He doesn’t know *how* to lose a fight – unless it’s with me,” she amended for the sake of her pride, “…and he never knows when to quit. Anybody who messes with him is in for more trouble than he is. Unless they’re me, of course.”

 

Dawn raised her head long enough to roll her eyes at her sister’s comment – knowing as well as Buffy did that no fight between Spike and Buffy had ever had a *really* clear winner. But then her expression grew troubled, as she corrected Buffy’s words quietly, her voice heavy with worry.

 

“Unless they’re human.”

 

Buffy did not respond. She really had no good answer for that argument – though she was fairly certain that the greatest danger to Spike’s safety was not humans – most of whom would have no idea that he could not defend himself against them – but rather, on of the many fights he seemed to find so easily, with other vampires or demons.

 

Of course – she was not about to attempt to use that sort of insane Buffy logic to soothe Dawn’s fears.

 

*Don’t worry, Dawnie – he’s much more likely to get torn to pieces by some huge monster from hell than he is to get hurt by a *human*!*

 

*Right. That’ll go over well.*

 

“He’ll be all right, Dawnie,” she repeated, unnecessarily, as neither girl was convinced by the words. “You know Spike. He’ll turn up. Probably at the worst possible, more inconvenient time. Because that’s what he does. He has to – so I can kick his butt for putting you through this.”

 

She was surprised herself at the fact that her tone held more affection than annoyance, in spite of – well, everything. She sighed as she just stood there and held her sister close to her, focusing on comforting Dawn, instead of the rising fears swirling through her mind.

 

Yes, when Spike came back – because he *had* to come back – she *did* want to give him a piece of her mind, if not the back of her hand – for Anya – for running off like this and scaring her to death – for making her care at all, let alone this much…so much it hurt to think of him out there somewhere alone and outside the realm of her ability to protect him.

 

Mostly – she just wanted him to come back.

 

*Oh, Spike – where are you?*

 

**************************************

 

For what felt like forever, there was nothing but…nothing.

 

Darkness.

 

Silence.

 

Complete, terrifying aloneness.

 

And then…over time…bit by bit…

 

Things started to come back to him.

 

The first thing to return – was pain.

 

Terrible, overwhelming pain that consumed him, coursing through every nerve ending in his body until he could be aware of nothing else – had there even been anything else to be aware of. 

 

It seemed to radiate out from the back of his skull – which felt as if it was on fire most of the time – throughout the rest of his body in random, almost electrical impulses, as the undead nervous system governing his body’s responses went thoroughly haywire, trying to compensate for and repair the terrible damage that had been done.

 

The next thing to return – several weeks later -- was hunger.

 

He didn’t know how long he had been – wherever he was – unable to move, or speak, or even think beyond the blinding agony that his existence had become – but he was certainly not capable of getting any sort of sustenance for himself. The burning emptiness that consumed his veins was nearly as powerful as the pain.

 

If he had been capable of putting together a coherent thought at that time – the pain and hunger would have kept him from it.

 

After that – a long time after -- came scent.

 

The first of all senses to develop, it was among the first to return as well, as Spike’s body worked desperately, with very little help, to repair itself. It was frustrating to the vampire, sensing in some part of his damaged mind that the things he could smell around him should have been familiar, though he could not put names to them or identify them.

 

Had he had any memory of the time before – before his entire universe had been reduced to this – he would have recalled the scents as those that one would generally associate with being underground…cold, damp, earth and stone…musty, contaminated water nearby…

 

…and – something else…

 

A new scent, one that somehow intensified the ache of hunger constantly gnawing at his stomach, one that caused the mouth that would not yet work to form speech for him to salivate, longing for the nourishment that that scent somehow seemed to promise…

 

Had he had his memories – Spike would have known that the elusive, often absent scent was that of a human being…flesh and sweat and a myriad of humanity’s emotions, underscored with the faint tang of fresh, hot blood, pounding through the human’s veins…

 

But he could *not* remember.

 

And while he was trying so hard to place it – frustrated at the failure of his body and mind to cooperate as they once had, though he could not remember it – another of his lost senses was returned to him – in a shock of abrupt violence and pain that drove the fledgling beginnings of thoughts from the vampire’s shattered mind.

 

Fear.


	3. Chapter 3

Buffy could not remember another time when she had ever felt so completely exhausted.

 

She trudged down the sidewalk, away from the Doublemeat Palace and toward her house, idly fidgeting with her ridiculous cow hat in her hand as she walked. All she could really think about at the moment was her soft, warm bed – and getting to it as quickly as possible. It felt like it had been forever since she had been there – even though it had only been…

 

*Whoa. Nearly 24 hours. No wonder I’m dead on my feet.*

 

She had gotten up very early that morning – at an hour that barely qualified as no longer “last night” – taking her mother’s old SUV and heading to L.A. to talk to Angel. She had left around 3:00 in the morning, knowing that would put her in L.A. around six – sunrise.

 

If she waited any later than that, Angel would be asleep when she got there – and if she went any earlier, he would still be out and about doing his “helping the helpless” thing…and she was very pressed for time; she had to be back in Sunnydale for her shift at the Doublemeat by noon.

 

It wasn’t as if she’d actually *wanted* to go see Angel, anyway.

 

But she had finally decided to swallow her pride over the issue – at least partially. Her official reason for being there was for Dawn’s sake. Her sister’s fear for Spike’s safety had only intensified over the past few weeks – but that was by no means the only reason she was going.

 

She was scared to death for the blonde vampire herself – terrified that something terrible had happened to him.

 

She had gone to L.A. to do something she would never have thought that she would do.

 

She had gone to ask Angel if he had seen Spike – and not with the intent of staking him, but because she was actually worried for his well being.

 

*Yeah,* she thought sarcastically as she made her way home that night. **That* was a wonderful idea, Buffy! Went over beautifully! ‘Hey, Angel, have you seen the childe of your insane daughter Drusilla lately? What’s that? Not since he chained you up and had you tortured without mercy for hours? Gee – sorry about that – I was just wondering if he’s okay!*

 

She kicked angrily at an unfortunate piece of trash that had the bad luck to be in her path, fighting back that sense of anger and annoyance that was in constant battle with her concern for the blonde vampire who had become such a source of emotional confusion to her.

 

*Stupid Spike! I asked him before where he was between the Gem of Amara thing and when the Initiative got him! He could have *told* me what kind of terms he and Angel parted on. Saved me the humiliation of getting screamed at by Angel in front of his office staff!*

 

*If he *had* told you – you’d have staked him,* that annoying voice of reason spoke up in her mind again.

 

*No, I wouldn’t have,* she insisted to herself. *I wouldn’t have staked him. At the very worst I might have hit him. Or – beat him up. A lot.*

 

She sighed wearily, finally admitting to herself that really, Spike would have been crazy to have told her about his last encounter with Angel. But the idea of his being afraid to tell her something like that, afraid of what she might do to him for it, somehow bothered her.

 

*Stupid vampire!* her mind stubbornly repeated. *It was two years ago! It’s not like I would have hurt him – much…*

 

The truth was – she had not exactly given Spike much of a reason to trust that she would react calmly and rationally to the story, no matter how much time had passed since then. Her mind was dragged unwillingly back to that cold, terrible night in the alley near the police station, where she had beaten any faith he might have had in her sense of compassion or forgiveness right out of him.

 

*Okay – Angel’s reaction to my question – not Spike’s fault,* she finally admitted to herself – if only to give her mind a respite from the troubling images that currently filled it. *Except for in the sense of the brutal torture he put Angel through that *resulted* in Angel’s reaction,* she shrugged. *But the important thing is – Angel hasn’t seen him, either. Spike, where are you?* she wondered anxiously.

 

At the moment, she was feeling particularly fragile – and realized suddenly with a pang of emotion that she couldn’t quite identify…this was just the sort of night on which she would have found herself kicking open the door to his crypt, throwing herself into his arms and throwing him down on his bed – taking comfort from the only one who seemed equipped to give it to her since she had come back.

 

But tonight – the reason she needed comfort at all was the fact that he was not there.

 

That – and Angel’s treatment of her in L.A.

 

She had not expected the fury that rose up in her former lover, when she had asked if he had seen Spike, her worry for the blonde vampire apparently all too clear in her eyes. Angel had angrily informed her about the last time he had seen him, then demanded to know why she cared where Spike was or what had happened to him.

 

Naturally, she had retorted that it was really none of his business anymore who she cared about and why, and if he didn’t know, that was all he had to say, and she would be out of his way, if he was going to talk to her that way.

 

“Fine! I don’t know – haven’t seen him! Now get out!” Angel had snarled at her, and behind the anger and resentment she saw in his dark eyes, there had been a hurt and betrayal that made her realize that somehow, he must have sensed that there was more to her questions – questions that had brought her all the way from Sunnydale to L.A. in the middle of the night – than the concern for Dawn she had claimed was the reason.

 

And suddenly, she had wanted nothing more than to be somewhere else -- *now*.

 

She had found herself in tears several times during the three hour drive from L.A. back to Sunnydale – though she would have been hard pressed to say whether her tears were more out of hurt from the way Angel had treated her, or her worry over Spike’s safety, or the inevitable confusion that had resulted from seeing Angel again after the past few months spent in the tumultuous, emotionally painful not-relationship that she had had with Spike.

 

She was just confused, and frustrated, and scared, and so very, very tired…

 

She had left L.A. around eight in the morning, getting back to Sunnydale around eleven – just in time to take a quick shower, throw on her uniform, and get to work by twelve. But then, her boss had asked her to work a few extra hours – and here she was, nearly twelve hours later, finally heading home again.

 

She frowned as she walked up her driveway, to find an unfamiliar dark-colored SUV parked in her driveway – and she automatically quickened her pace, an anxious feeling building in her chest.

 

Xander had been staying over with Dawn while she worked her shift – and his car was still parked in the driveway beside the unfamiliar vehicle – but she had no idea who it belonged to, and, this being Sunnydale, knew that chances were, an unknown visitor to the Slayer’s home when the Slayer happened to conveniently not be there, and her little sister who may or may not still be a mystical key *was*, was not likely to be the result of mere coincidence.

 

Of course -- that particular sort of visitor rarely drove a shiny new SUV...but somehow, that did little to calm her fears.

 

She hurried up the walk and opened the door -- frowning as she walked into the foyer, at the sound of casual laughter -- *three* voices’ worth – coming from the living room.

 

"Did you guys know the door was open?" she asked, unable to keep the annoyance from her voice, the after effect of finding that her fear for her sister’s safety was unfounded. “You can’t do things like that,” she continued as she locked the door behind her and turned to go on into the living room. “It’s not…”

 

Her voice trailed off abruptly, her eyes widening at the sight of the person who was sitting casually in the living room in the recliner, one leg resting across the other, his hands behind his head as he looked up from the story he was apparently telling to Xander and Dawn, who both sat, to all appearances transfixed, on the sofa.

 

Riley.

 

“…safe,” she finished softly, setting her keys down on the end table beside the sofa and staring at her ex-boyfriend, sitting inexplicably in her living room – and noticeably without his new wife, this time.

 

*He’s just *full* of surprises, isn’t he?* she thought with no small amount of bitterness, as she steeled herself emotionally before speaking aloud.

 

“Riley,” she said by way of greeting, with a small nod and a tight, not exactly welcoming little smile. “Hi.” She paused for a moment before saying the words that had sounded too rude in her mind to actually use – had she particularly cared about Riley’s feelings anymore.

 

“What are you doing here?”

 

The ex-commando let out a nervous, surprised little laugh, glancing around at Xander and Dawn – who had not appeared to have any problem with his presence so far – for support before meeting Buffy’s eyes as he stood up.

 

“What? You’re not happy to see me?” he said in a light, teasing tone, clearly meant to break the tension.

 

It was not exactly working.

 

“Should I be?” Buffy countered quietly. There was a moment’s pause before she relented slightly, sighing almost imperceptibly as she continued, “I mean – last time you came to town you brought a nasty disgusting demon with you – not exactly my idea of a party.”

 

“Yeah,” Dawn remarked quietly, almost outside her range of hearing, with a little smirk on her face. “And then there was the Suvolte, too.”

 

A slight smile of irony crossed Riley’s lips, the only indication that he had heard Dawn’s snide little comment about his wife, though his eyes never left Buffy’s.

 

“No demons this time,” he assured her, shaking his head slightly.

 

“Sure about that?” she shot back, her eyes intent, though her voice was soft.

 

Riley dropped her gaze for a moment, his smile fading, before he met her eyes again, completely serious.

 

“I – I’ve missed you, Buffy.”

 

Buffy’s eyes widened slightly as her face took on an incredulous look. Just what was Riley playing at? she wondered indignantly – but her reaction must have shown in her eyes, because before she could call him on his very inappropriate words, he spoke up, moving in slightly closer to her as he did.

 

“I mean it. I really have. Seeing you – a few months ago – it just – well…”

 

“Wait.” The Slayer held up her hand, drawing his words to an abrupt halt, taking a step back away from him, trying to gather a bit of distance so that she could deal with what he was saying. “Riley – you can’t just – show up here, and…” She looked up at him, shaking her head in disgust and disbelief, “you’re *married*, Riley!”

 

“No. I’m not.”

 

The stunned silence that followed that announcement gave Buffy at least the small relief of knowing that she was not the last to hear that particular news. Xander and Dawn were both staring at the soldier with as much astonishment as she felt.

 

“Oh.”

 

That was all Buffy could bring herself to say at the moment, still trying to take in what he was telling her.

 

“I just – after I saw you – and – and Sam – she knew – she had to know, I couldn’t really hide it, never could, really, but Buffy, I…”

 

“Riley,” she cut him off again, her voice soft and weary, “wait. Um…Xander?” She turned and faced her friend, uncertainty in her eyes. “Can you…um…can Dawn – stay over? Tonight?”

 

“Buffy…” Dawn started to object, shaking her head. “I don’t want to…”

 

“Dawn – I need a little privacy to talk to Riley – okay? It’s Friday, you don’t have to get up early for school or anything, just – go with Xander – okay?” Buffy insisted, her voice terse, and leaving little room for argument.

 

“Don’t you think that should depend on what *Xander* says?” Dawn snapped, crossing her arms over her chest in a stubborn pout. She knew that she was clearly outranked when it came to her sister, so there was little else she could do except call Buffy on her just assuming that Xander would be willing to do as she had asked, without waiting for his answer.

 

The Slayer turned slightly pleading eyes on her best friend. “Please?” she said softly.

 

Xander sighed, his dark eyes troubled, revealing that he was not so very sure either that this was a good idea – but he nodded with resignation. “No problem, Buffy. You know Dawn’s always welcome.”

 

“Fine,” Dawn muttered, rolling her eyes. As the girl reluctantly followed their friend to the door, walking past her sister, she paused long enough to remark coldly, narrowed eyes piercing into Buffy’s in accusation, “What better way to forget all about one thing – than to replace it with something else?”

 

Buffy’s eyes widened and she turned as her sister passed her, objecting, “I’m not…”

 

But the door slammed behind Dawn, cutting off her futile attempt at explanation.

 

*That’s not what I’m doing,* she insisted to herself, closing her eyes for a moment to compose her thoughts before turning to face Riley again. *I’m not replacing Spike with Riley. I don’t even want to be with Riley. There will be *no* being with Riley! I just see no reason to humiliate him in front of the others – that’s all…that’s it…*

 

She turned around, drawing in a deep breath as she faced the hopeful expression on Riley’s face – unable to find words for a very long moment.

 

Finally she breathed out, “So. You and Sam. Split up. You – left her?”

 

Riley shook his head. “Not quite. The other way around, in fact.” His blue eyes took on an imploring look as he edged in closer, reaching out to touch her arm. “She – she couldn’t stay – not after – not when it was so obvious that I – I wasn’t over you. I never was, Buffy…”

 

Buffy shook her head, backing away from him slightly. “Riley – no,” she objected quietly. “I – I can’t just – you can’t just come back here and announce that you’re married – and then come back three months later and announce that you’re suddenly *not*, and you wanna get back together! I can’t just -- *do* that, Riley!”

 

“I don’t expect you to.”

 

His words surprised her enough that she looked up at him suddenly, one eyebrow raised in speculation.

 

“I don’t,” he repeated emphatically, when faced with the dubious look on her face. “I just – want to be in your life again, Buffy. Want to – to help you. To be – your friend. And – maybe – later on – if things work out…”

 

“Riley – I don’t want you counting on that. I’m not – I’m not even the same person that…” Buffy shook her head, her voice trailing off as her mind was filled with images of eyes a deeper blue than Riley’s, filled with a depth of emotion like none she had ever seen – certainly not in Riley’s eyes.

 

“I know that, Buffy.” Riley’s voice was quiet, solemn. “I’m not – counting on anything. I just – I’ve moved back to Sunnydale. I got an apartment – across town.” He was quiet for a moment, allowing that to sink in, before he went on, “I know things. I’m experienced. I can help you – when you want me to. And – that’s all I want right now, Buffy – just to be able to help you. I just – just wanted you to know that I’m – I’m here. Okay?”

 

Buffy nodded slowly, still unable to find words.

 

When it became clear that she really did not have much to say to him, Riley nodded in acceptance, and headed toward the door, pressing a scrap of paper into her hand as he passed her.

 

“My number,” he explained. “If you need me.”

 

“Thanks,” she replied flatly, not looking up.

 

Riley nodded again, as he reached for the door. “I’ll let you – get some sleep.”

 

She did not respond as he opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. He turned slightly before moving off of it, half-facing her as he asked softly, “If you don’t mind my asking, Buffy – who is it? That you’re – trying to forget?”

 

Buffy looked up at him, startled that he had caught Dawn’s words as well. After a momentary silence, she looked down again, before meeting his eyes with a steely, unflinching gaze.

 

“No one,” she replied. “I’m not – trying to forget – anyone.”

 

Riley studied her face for a moment, before nodding his acceptance of her words, and turned without another word, walking out into the night.

 

Buffy’s eyes welled with tears, as she allowed bittersweet memories to flood her mind – there was no one here tonight with her, no one’s feelings to worry about – so she let the memories, the pain and fears that had been overwhelming her for the past few months, flow over her, embracing and accepting them.

 

*Not trying to forget,* she echoed in her mind, sitting down on the edge of her sofa with her head in her hands, as tears flowed down her cheeks. *Don’t *ever* want to forget…*

 

*******************************

 

There was something…something…

 

He was trying so hard to remember…

 

Familiar.

 

Safe.

 

Inviting.

 

Mingled in with the scent that he had come to associate with fear, and pain, and suffering…

 

So…confusing.

 

“She’s forgotten all about you, you know.”

 

He flinched slightly at the sound – yes, *sound* -- that reached his newly repairing ears – the sound that announced the presence of the other – the one that came here, to this dark, lonely place of suffering – only to intensify that suffering.

 

“I saw her today – and she doesn’t even remember, Spike – that’s how little you mean to her.”

 

The words sounded hollow – echoing in his weakened, damaged hearing, with a muffled, underwater sort of sound – and he could not make out the individual words.

 

Not that he could have put meaning to them, anyway – yet.

 

He could hear them – knew that he was being spoken to – but to his infinite frustration, his mind refused to process the words, to give them meaning. He had no idea what the other person in the room was trying to say to him.

 

But the tone – that was impossible to mistake.

 

Cold, mocking, gloating over his misery and suffering – enjoying his pain and terror – that dark voice always accompanied more pain – more terror – so although he could not yet comprehend the words – Spike knew enough by now to fear the arrival of that voice – that heavy, acrid scent that accompanied this unwelcome visitor to his underground prison.

 

“Did you hear me, Spike? Are you listening?”

 

The demand in the voice made it clear that he was expected to answer – though he had no idea what to speak -- *couldn’t* speak – so the sensation of frustrated fear began to spread through him, as the heavy footsteps slowly sounded, growing nearer to him as the intruder went on.

 

“You *can* hear me, now, can’t you, Spike,” he observed with a smile that was audible in his voice – a cruel, nasty smile that promised only more pain – though Spike could not quite comprehend the question.

 

“You’ve been able to hear me for some time now…*haven’t you*?” the loud words spoken suddenly, very near his ear, made the injured vampire flinch, pulling back away from the abrasive sound that hurt his head – though he couldn’t pull back very far.

 

Something – something was – restraining him…

 

“You’re healing, Spike,” the voice continued softly, moving away from him again now – circling him in a way that the predator in Spike could still recognize as dangerous – threatening. “Gradually – getting back all those abilities that you lost when I put a bullet through your brain. It’s really amazing, actually. I had no idea that you’d heal up so well. I mean – it’s taken time, but – you’ve barely had any blood at all. Just a tiny bit each day, if I’m figuring right – and you’re getting better. It’s really very…”

 

He paused, trying to come up with the right word, before finally adding in a whisper of amusement, once again close enough to make the bound, injured vampire flinch, though he had no concept of exactly what was being said – only the menace and sadistic pleasure behind the words.

 

“…disappointing.”

 

“Pretty soon – you’re gonna be able to talk again – aren’t you, Spike?” the voice mused. “And when that happens – well – I might just have to bring an end to all this. Can’t have you – running your mouth. Ruining everything. You were always so good at that, weren’t you?” the man sneered angrily.

 

Spike’s body trembled slightly, involuntarily, at the anger and menace in the voice of his captor.

 

“Can you talk yet, Spike?” he asked in a low, menacing whisper. Then, when there was no response, he fisted his hand in the blonde vampire’s blood-matted, disheveled hair and jerked his head back painfully. “Can you?” he demanded.

 

A low, animalistic moan of anguish was the only response to the jarring assault on Spike’s still healing scalp – though he did not understand the question, did not know what was being asked of him…he was only responding in the most simple, basic, natural way, to the physical pain he was experiencing.

 

His captor did not quite see it that way.

 

“Getting there, aren’t we?” he observed mockingly. “Closer all the time…” The humor left his voice as he released his hair and backhanded him hard, knocking his head back against the stone wall behind him. “Well, *don’t*!” he snarled – responding to the next inevitable cry of pain with another blow – and another, ordering his prisoner to silence again and again…

 

Until finally…Spike got it.

 

The final cry – bit back with an extreme force of will – muffled with an effort even as his tormentor jerked his head back hard, trying to provoke a reaction – told the man that he had managed to get his point across.

 

“Good,” he remarked in a voice of soft, amused approval. “Good, Spike. That’s it. Don’t talk. *Don’t…talk.* Got it?”

 

The words were no clearer than before – with the exception of the single order that Spike now understood. He had to keep quiet – had to obey – or he would experience more pain. And now, the question in his captor’s voice made it clear that he wanted to know if he understood.

 

It was really very simple – but it was a tremendous breakthrough for the vampire.

 

A breakthrough that came at a great, painful cost.

 

He nodded slowly, instinctively knowing that that action would let his tormentor know that he understood.

 

There was a long silence before the man replied in a voice of astonishment, “Yes? You got it?”

 

Spike nodded again, emphatically, drawing back against the wall in anticipation of another blow – which did not come.

 

“Good! *Good*!”

 

The excitement in the man’s voice was clear, as he stood up straight again and moved away from his prisoner, apparently thrilled with this success – though Spike had no idea why.

 

All he wanted was for the pain, the torment and terror, to come to an end. There was something – someone, perhaps? – that he found himself longing for, though he could not remember it. Some sense of safety and belonging and comfort that he desperately wanted to find again – something that he somehow knew, if only he could get to it, would make this agony stop – if only he could find it.

 

But how could he find it, he wondered with a sense of despair, if he could not even remember what it was that he was looking for?


	4. Chapter 4

For the first few weeks after Spike’s disappearance, Buffy had found herself focusing the greater part of her attention during her patrols on Restfield Cemetery, spending an unusually large amount of time there -- and inevitably stopping by the now empty crypt near the center of the cemetery.  
  
Just in case.  
  
Usually she just ended up slaying some new random demon or vamp that had decided that the unoccupied but cozy little crypt would make a good lair.  
  
Those slays tended to be particularly vicious.  
  
Buffy knew deep down, each time she stopped there, that she was not going to find Spike in his old home, no matter how badly she wanted to – but in spite of that fact, each time was still a fresh disappointment, and a renewal of her fears as to what might have happened to him.  
  
By the time Spike had been missing for four months, Buffy had stopped patrolling Restfield altogether – and her lack of attention to the place was becoming as much of an issue as her focus on it had been before. She knew that she should be checking it periodically, but she found after a time that she simply could not bring herself to walk by Spike’s old crypt, where she had spent so many hours with him, knowing that he was not there, and never would be there again.   
  
She told herself that it didn’t matter much; Sunnydale had demons enough scattered throughout it to keep her busy – and her avoidance of Restfield was nobody’s business but her own.  
  
The problem was – Sunnydale’s demon community was beginning to make it their business.  
  
If some vampire or demon wanted a relatively safe place for a massacre or ritual or sacrifice of some kind – Restfield had become the place to go. They could be more than reasonably sure that whatever evil they were up to would go undisturbed, since for whatever reason, the Slayer seemed inclined to avoid the place.   
  
While the kill count from her nightly patrols became smaller and smaller – leading her to believe that she was doing her job effectively – Restfield gradually became a hot spot of demonic activity in Sunnydale…and the Slayer remained completely unaware of the situation.  
  
But there were others who *were* aware.  
  
Buffy was making her way rather listlessly through Westside Cemetery, after a rather uneventful patrol, more than ready to get home and go to bed. She had been working double shifts at the Doublemeat as often as possible – and although she was thoroughly exhausted, all the hard work was finally beginning to pay off. The bills were being paid – all on time – and she was actually finding that she was able to set back a bit of money each week for emergencies, as well as being able to afford a few small extras for herself and Dawn.  
  
Things were definitely improving in most areas of her life.  
  
All except one.  
  
She was trying so hard not to focus on that one area of her life that she could not seem to forget, that when a large, hulking shape suddenly stepped out in front of her from the bushes beside her, she jumped back, startled. Instinctively she raised her stake – the action freezing midway as she recognized the person standing in front of her. She released a weary sigh that just barely managed to not sound annoyed as she lowered the stake again.  
  
“Riley,” she said simply, an expectant note to her voice, as she tucked the stake back into her back pocket.  
  
“Buffy,” he replied with a nod, taking a deep breath before he added, “There’s trouble.”  
  
"Shocking," she remarked flatly, her expression not changing. "What's going on?"  
  
"I was patrolling East Central Cemetery -- there was a girl -- and this -- group of demons -- don't know what kind, never saw them before -- grabbed her, and dragged her off. I followed them, looking for a chance to attack...but...there were so many, Buffy..."  
  
"How many?" she asked, her tone now 100% Slayer, as she immediately turned and headed in the direction of the cemetery Riley had mentioned, assuming that he would keep up with her as he went on with his story.  
  
"At least a dozen -- maybe more..."  
  
"Where did they take her?"  
  
"Restfield."  
  
Buffy's step faltered for just the barest fraction of a second -- so briefly that she was sure Riley hadn't noticed -- but then she smoothly shifted her course just slightly, in order to be headed toward Restfield, instead of the cemetery Riley had been patrolling.  
  
"By now it's probably too late," she observed. "By the time you got all the way over here to me, they've probably killed her already."  
  
"Maybe not," Riley explained with a shrug. "They were -- waiting for someone. Their leader, maybe? They said they couldn't begin the -- ritual feeding ceremony, until this -- other one arrived."  
  
"They -- spoke English?" Buffy frowned, a bit surprised as she looked up at the soldier.  
  
Riley shrugged with an ironic little half-smile. "As a *second* language, I'm sure," he replied, easily keeping pace with her as they quickly made their way toward Restfield Cemetery.  
  
When they reached the cemetery, they slowed their pace, keeping close to the cover of the trees that surrounded the cemetery. Riley silently nodded for her to follow him as he led the Slayer cautiously toward the spot where he had last seen the demons. Buffy peered over the dense undergrowth at the assembled circle in the secluded little corner of the cemetery that Riley had led her to, her nose crinkling in distaste as she took in the scene before her.   
  
The demons were huge – over seven feet tall – with dark, scaly gray skin that seeped to be oozing some sort of green substance. The same green substance was dripping from their horns – three each, across their foreheads, above gaping mouths full of hundreds of long, needle-sharp teeth.  
  
She could not quite see through the rough circle that they formed, but she could hear quiet, muffled whimpers and cries coming from the center of the circle – so she could safely assume that was where they had their human victim…and that the girl was still alive.  
  
“You didn’t mention how extremely disgusting these things were,” she hissed. “But there *are* like, twenty of them at least. That’s *almost* like a dozen.” Even in a whisper, it was impossible to miss her sarcastic tone.  
  
“They’re gathering,” Riley explained, more than a little defensive. “There weren’t as many when I left.”  
  
“Right,” Buffy replied tersely. “Doesn’t matter now. Wait for my signal – then you take the dozen on the left, I’ll take the dozen on the right.”  
  
“That’s it?” Riley’s tone was dubious, as he gave her an uncertain look. “That’s the plan?”  
  
“Well,” Buffy shrugged carelessly. “Once I get finished with my half, I’ll probably be starting on what’s left of yours. What do you expect, some brilliant complex plan in ten minutes? Just – wait ‘til I say go…”  
  
They waited in silence for a few minutes longer, trying to get a handle on exactly what was happening n the clearing. The creatures did indeed seem to be preparing for some sort of ritual. The largest of them – apparently the leader – moved to the center of the circle, and as he did, the others shifted to the sides, allowing Buffy and Riley to see inside the circle.  
  
A large tree stump was set in the middle of the circle, with a heavy iron peg driven deep into it, attached to one end of a thick, heavy chain. But what caught Buffy’s attention was the terrified young girl, bound at the other end of the chain by her wrists, close enough to the stump that she could not rise from her knees, and gagged to prevent her panicked screams from being heard.  
  
But the gag did not keep her from *trying* to be heard.  
  
“Thank you all for coming to the annual feast of the human virgin,” the leader began in a pleasant, casual tone.   
  
At least – Buffy *thought* it sounded pleasant and casual, for a – whatever-it-was. It was really hard to tell, between the growls and slurps that punctuated its heavily accented English.  
  
“If we’re all here – I believe it’s time to begin the ceremony,” the leader continued, stepping slowly closer to the increasingly terrified girl, who yanked uselessly, desperately against the chains that bound her.  
  
“You see any weapons?” Riley asked Buffy in an anxious whisper.  
  
“Do they look like they need them?” she shot back incredulously. “Look at those teeth! And they’re just – out in the open? Dozens of those huge, disgusting things, and they’re not hiding or anything? They’ve got a lot of nerve! Don’t they know that a cemetery is just -- *naturally* the Slayer’s territory?”  
  
“Well – not Restfield, Buffy,” Riley reluctantly informed her. “Restfield is always like this…”  
  
“Since when?” she demanded, eyebrows raised as she stared at him in surprise.  
  
“Since – well, since I’ve been back in town anyway. I thought you were just – scared to come down here by yourself…”  
  
Buffy’s soft, offended huff of disbelief was her only response to those words.  
  
“So,” Riley whispered a bit nervously, clearly trying to shift the topic of conversation away from his thoughtless comment, “*when* are we going to…”  
  
“*Go*!” she hissed suddenly, just before launching herself from the underbrush out into the clearing, drawing a dangerous-looking sort of small battle axe from under her jacket as she did so.  
  
“I guess that’d be now,” Riley muttered with a half-smile, following right behind her and leaping into the battle.  
  
They had caught the unsuspecting group of demons completely off guard, taking down a half dozen of them before they even realized that they were under attack. The element of surprise was in their favor, at least, since the demons had assumed that they were safe in Restfield – and that bought the Slayer and the soldier a few precious seconds.  
  
After that – all hell broke loose.  
  
Buffy fought for all she was worth, spinning and kicking, throwing well-aimed blows left and right – and found to her relief that although these creatures were large and definitely very strong, they were also less agile, a bit slower, because of their size and the rather unwieldy shape of their bodies.  
  
Before long, between the two of them, she and Riley had managed to take down all of the monsters – except one.  
  
The leader.  
  
A silent stand-off between the demon on one side, and the Slayer and the ex-commando on the other, ended with a sudden unexpected action…  
  
…as the demon leader suddenly turned tail and ran away from them across the clearing, headed out into the woods surrounding Restfield.  
  
Buffy hesitated only a moment, glancing between Riley and the girl the demons had captured, still bound to the stump, her arms pulled up to cover her face from the violence and bloodshed that had resulted in her rescue. Looking back out into the woods, where the creature had disappeared, Buffy made her decision.  
  
“Make sure she’s not hurt,” she ordered Riley, already heading for the woods. “Get her loose and make sure she gets home okay.”  
  
“But Buffy,” Riley called after her. “You can’t just…”  
  
“I can take him, Riley – take care of the girl,” she cut him off, disappearing into the woods before he could say another word to stop her.  
  
Buffy stopped short after a few hundred yards, looking around her into the surrounding darkness, trying to see where the creature had gone. After a moment, she realized that it was not going to be difficult to track…considering the trail of glow-in-the-dark green goop that it had left in its wake, coating the ground and brush that had been in its path.  
  
“I love this job,” she muttered darkly as she followed the trail, her axe ready in her hand.  
  
“Now let’s see,” she said to herself under her breath after a moment, slowing her pace a bit, as it suddenly occurred to her that she might not want to catch up to this thing too quickly, which would give it the opportunity to catch her by surprise. “If I was a seven foot slime monster being pursued by a much faster, much smarter Slayer – what would *I* do?”  
  
The creature was much slower than she was – she knew it, and it knew it. It was obviously at least somewhat intelligent, and it had seen her make short work of the rest of its clan, so she could expect it to know what a threat she was, and also to be capable of some kind of trick.  
  
Buffy held back slightly, following the unmistakable trail of the neon green slime that the monster left in its wake, watching carefully around her all the while for any signs of trickery – which, now that she thought of it, would be pretty obvious. The monster could not help but leave its trail anywhere it went – so there was only so much deception it could possibly pull off.  
  
She came to an abrupt stop when she saw where the trail was leading. Directly in front of her, a worn wooden door swung slightly in the wind, beckoning her onward – toward the dark stone steps that led downward, into the old Initiative caves. The steps that she could see from where she stood were coated with the creature’s trail, so there was no mistaking where it had gone.  
  
She thought about how long it had been since any human had set foot in those caves – how many nasty things might have taken up residence down there in the past two years – and she almost turned around and let the thing go.  
  
*No,* she told herself firmly. *Gotta get it. If I let it go, it’ll just pick up another victim sooner or later…*  
  
*But there are *lots* of evil, nasty things – nice and *above* ground – probably about to grab a human snack in the next few hours, too,* she reminded herself. *No need to go down into the dark, scary…*  
  
*No! Not scary!* she suddenly cut off that train of thought, remember Riley’s annoying comment earlier about her being scared to go into Restfield – and that was *so* a whole other issue that she was going to have to take care of right away! *You’re the Slayer, Buffy, suck it up! Get down there!*  
  
Slowly, cautiously, she descended the stairs – suddenly glad for the glowing monster goop that cast an eerie green light on the walls around her, at least partially illuminating the room, allowing her to see at least far enough around her to know if anything was close enough to reach out and grab her.  
  
And for the moment – nothing was.  
  
Buffy followed the trail, deeper and deeper into the caves, glad for another reason that it was there – because it would make finding her way out that much easier when the time came. She kept her footsteps soft and quiet, moving swiftly but silently through the semi-darkness – and eventually she became aware of distant sounds ahead of her.  
  
She was catching up.  
  
The monster did not seem to be aware of her presence, as its pace did not seem to increase at all, so she gradually allowed herself to catch up to it, though being careful to keep out of sight – at least one turned corner away at all times.  
  
Suddenly, she heard the footsteps cease, and froze momentarily, wondering if it had realized it was still being pursued. She pressed her back to the wall, listening closely for any further sounds.  
  
“Well…what’s this?” she heard the raspy, garbled voice of the creature from just on the other side of the wall – followed by a disgusting, wet, snuffling sort of sound, as if the creature was sniffing something.  
  
Buffy focused for a long moment just on *not* losing her dinner.  
  
“Not exactly human,” the thing went on, talking to itself. “But close enough…”  
  
Buffy frowned, puzzled and disturbed by the monster’s words. If it was about to feed on something, she thought, perhaps this was her opportunity to catch it off guard. Slowly, cautiously, she stepped out away from the wall, moving into the doorway that led into the small, roughly circular cavern in which the creature now stood, its huge bulk obscuring her view of whatever it was it was looking at.  
  
She cringed slightly when her next step squeaked loudly, the squeak of rubber soles when wet – and then cursed softly when she looked down to see that it was not exactly water that she had stepped in.  
  
The monster growled as it whirled around to face her, and even before she looked up, she knew that it was aware of her presence – no use being subtle anymore.  
  
Good. She was getting tired of subtle.  
  
“Any idea if this green nastiness of yours washes out?” she asked lightly. “Because it might have some influence on how quickly I kill you.”  
  
She looked up as she spoke to gauge the effect of her quip on her quarry – and suddenly froze, all the breath sucked from her body in an instant. She couldn’t have moved – spoken – couldn’t have defended herself. She was aware in some distant part of her mind that if this creature wanted to kill her now – she would not be able to stop it.  
  
*One good day,* the words echoed in her mind, as her eyes welled with tears and a deep ache began anew in her heart.  
  
Completely unaware of the conflict the Slayer was experiencing – only remembering how she had killed more than a dozen of his fellows and had hardly broken a sweat – the creature turned tail abruptly and fled, choosing to run rather than attempt to fight her.  
  
Buffy did not take her eyes off of the sight that had arrested her attention – though at the last possible moment, she did recover enough presence of mind to swing her axe-bearing arm, releasing the weapon to fly straight and true into the back of the creature’s skull – dropping it to the ground, dead, with a single blow.  
  
She didn’t bother to check and be sure – had no further interest in the creature she had hunted down. All of her attention was focused on one thing – the “not quite human” thing that the creature had been about to feed upon.  
  
The very thought made her weak with horror.  
  
She took a couple of slow steps forward, her mind scarcely processing the numerous injuries, bruises and cuts and marks unidentifiable in the dim light cast by a single torch on the wall. For the moment – none of it mattered.  
  
All that mattered was that he was here – and judging by the trembling of his body, even as he shrank back against the wall, his eyes screwed tightly shut in fear and avoidance of the fate that had nearly befallen him – alive.  
  
For the moment, to Buffy – that was all that mattered.  
  
As she took another slow step forward, the Slayer finally found her breath, and a single word left her lips in a trembling, tearful whisper of mingled hope and terror.  
  
“*Spike*?”


	5. Chapter 5

He was in terrible shape.

  
As Buffy’s stunned mind gradually adjusted to the fact that he was actually *there*, right before her, she began to take in the other, more disturbing details of the situation, and a sense of anger began rising up in her, with her fear for him.

  
  
Someone had really done a number on her vampire. Spike was slumped against the stone wall of the cave, his weakened, emaciated body supported almost fully by the iron chains that bounds his wrists to the wall on either side of his head, holding him up. His chest was bare – revealing a frightening array of ugly, angry welts and bruises; and as Buffy’s eyes gradually adjusted to the dim light in the room, she realized with rising horror that she could clearly make out every bone in his once-sculpted torso. *How long has it been since he’s eaten?* she wondered momentarily – for once not feeling the sense of disgust that she usually felt when she thought of what it was exactly that Spike ate. All she felt at the moment was concern.

  
  
And rage. 

 

He looked terrible, signs of recent and perhaps not-so-recent abuse covering his body, on the verge of starvation -- if vampires *could* starve to death... But more frightening than the way he looked, was the strange, unsettling way in which he had reacted to her presence. As she whispered his name, the soft sound a clattering echo in the stillness of the room, the blonde vampire flinched back against the wall, hard, his painfully thin body shaking violently. He kept his eyes closed, his head turned away from her, and did not make a sound, though his entire body appeared tensed, poised for action that the chains, rattling against the wall with his movements, did not allow him. “Spike?” she tried again, softening her tone even more, as she edged nearer to him. She had no idea what had happened to him – though she had every intention of finding out – but whatever it was appeared to have traumatized him to the point that he didn’t even seem to recognize her. “Spike? It’s me – Buffy…” she whispered. She really felt very silly, identifying herself to this creature that had, a few months earlier, known every detail of her life, her heart – worshipped the very ground she walked on…whether she felt worthy of that adoration or not. But now – he did not even seem aware of who she was at all. Spike? Not knowing her? The very thought seemed ridiculous to her – and deeply unsettling. “Remember me?” she asked softly, her tone light and gently ironic, though her voice was trembling, and the smile she meant to be reassuring was weak, on the verge of dissolving into a sob, as she moved steadily toward him. It didn’t really matter, she thought somewhat numbly. It wasn’t as if he could *see* her smile, with his eyes closed, turned away from her like that. She was suddenly startled by the first response she had seen from Spike yet, as he began to shake his head slightly. She stopped moving for a moment, frowning, before continuing slowly toward him. “You – you don’t?” she whispered. “You don’t remember me?” In spite of the desperation of the situation, she still felt an unreasonable sense of hurt come over her with the thought that he really *didn’t* know her. As she reached him, extending a gentle, cautious hand to touch his shoulder, she was startled when he jerked back away from her in panic, shaking his head harder, almost desperately, a low pleading whine beginning to sound low in his throat. And suddenly, Buffy began to wonder if the head-shaking was more about not wanting her to come near him than about actually answering her question. A cold, sick sensation of fear came over her, as she found herself noticing suddenly that he had not spoken a word since she had found him. His demeanor was just -- *wrong* -- so not like him... She found herself reminded suddenly, with a little chill of apprehension, of when Angel had come back from hell, all wild and feral and uncomprehending.  
  
And then, she found herself wondering all at once -- if he had even understood her question at all. “Spike?” she repeated, keeping her tone carefully soft and calm. “It’s okay…it’s okay, Spike…Stay calm…okay? It’s okay, Spike, I’m here…you’re safe now…it’s okay…” As she gently spoke to him, trying hard to keep the rising terror out of her voice, for his sake, Buffy glanced around the room, looking for a key to the chains that bound his wrists. Much to her relief, with her soft, repetitive words, and the gentle touch of her hand, he seemed to be calming down a bit – though it was hard to tell, as he still would not open his eyes or say anything – but the plaintive whine had died away, and the trembling had eased a bit, though it was still quite noticeable. “Spike – do you know where the key is?” she asked him quietly, her words slow and even, though she was not sure at this point that it made any difference.  
 He froze, not responding, not moving a muscle, and Buffy frowned at his reaction, puzzled.  
  
*Well -- at least there's *some* reaction,* she thought with a fresh wave of sorrow washing over him. "My God, Spike, what happened to you?*  
 “The key. To the chains. Do you know where it is?” she forced herself to ask again, in a voice that was firm in spite of the quaver it held. After another long moment of nothing, Buffy added in a voice of flat resignation, “Do you even know what I’m asking you, Spike? Do you understand?” She noticed suddenly with dismay that her repeated questioning, however gentle, was starting to upset him again. He drew back away from her touch, shaking his head pleadingly, his trembling intensifying again. It was as if he knew that she wanted something from him, but couldn’t quite comprehend what it was – and worse, he was terrified of what her reaction might be when he could not do whatever it was that she wanted. “No – it’s okay…don’t worry about it,” she murmured gently, tears streaking her face as she raised a hand to touch his cheek – only to have him flinch away from her. “It’s okay – I’m not gonna hurt you,” she assured him. “It’s okay – and you don’t have any idea what I’m saying to you, do you.” She deliberately kept her tone flat, not wanting to upset him again by asking him questions that he could not answer. She let out a deep, shaky breath, raising a hand to gently touch his dirty, disheveled hair – startled to find it matted, blood-caked, resistant to her fingers running through it. She was even more startled in the next moment when the bound vampire nearly leapt as far away from her as was possible in his chains, a low moan of pain and terror rising from his throat, as he cringed back against the wall as far as he could, straining against the chains in his desperate effort to escape her touch. “I’m sorry!” she cried out, tears flowing freely from her eyes, as she realized just how badly he must be hurt. “I didn’t mean to – didn’t mean to hurt you, Spike…” But since he could not seem to comprehend her words, her anxious, almost panicked tone only served to upset him more. He clearly would have dropped to his knees had the chains allowed it, huddling down against the wall as far as he could get from her, that awful terrified sound again coming from his throat as he hid his face against his arm in a pitiful attempt to hide himself from what he perceived to be a threat. “Okay…okay…” Buffy repeated in a trembling voice, taking a step back and trying to regain her own composure. “You need a little space…you don’t need me…touching you…just…just find the key, Buffy,” she muttered, looking desperately around the room for someplace where someone – whoever had done this to Spike – might have hidden it. That was another question, reverberating again and again in her mind…who had *done* this? But it was a question for another time – a time when Spike was safe and calm and cared for, in the haven of her home – not for right now, when he was panicked and confused and disoriented, and she was not doing much better than he was. Her eyes landed on a small folding table a few yards away from where Spike was chained – and her stomach turned at the sight of most of the items arrayed on that table, which had escaped her notice until now. Various implements of torture, stained dark brownish red with blood… *Spike’s blood…* She felt her stomach roiling within her, and forced the thoughts away – couldn’t think about that now – had to think about – the key…where was… *There!* She grabbed the shiny little piece of metal from where it lay on the table, and turned quickly back to Spike, cringing a bit herself when he flinched at the sudden movement – but relieved to see that his eyes were open now. Judging from the guilty sort of way he kept his eyes aimed at the floor, Buffy suspected that he had been watching her while she searched for the key – though why he would think that she might be angry about that, she simply could not fathom. “It’s okay,” she repeated, beginning to feel foolish from the repetition, but seemingly unable to stop. “I’m gonna get you out of here, Spike…gonna take you home…” Again, the vampire froze completely for a split second, his trembling ceasing momentarily with surprise, his eyes wide and staring strangely straight ahead in a way that… Suddenly…Buffy felt her own body began to shake, and she shook her head, fighting back a sick feeling of horror as her mind tried to reject what she was increasingly sure was true. It made sense – explained why he wouldn’t look at her – why he seemed so disoriented – so frightened of every little sound… *God, no…* she thought desperately, her heart aching for this creature that had come to mean so much to her. *Please…no…* “Spike?” she whispered, moving close to him again, shifting her body, trying to bring herself into his line of vision. “Spike – look at me…” He didn’t move, though she could see the confusion, the anxious desperation in his face as he tried – really *tried* -- to understand what it was she wanted from him. With a cautious, gentle hand, she lifted his chin, disturbed when he only flinched slightly, but was then unsettlingly compliant to her touch, allowing her to turn his face upward slightly. She passed her free hand slowly in front of his eyes – feeling weak and sick again when they did not move. *He can’t see…oh God, he can’t see!* she realized with horror. “Oh, Spike…Spike, what happened…?” she sobbed out desperately, releasing him and moving trembling hands to the cuff at his right wrist, struggling to unlock it and free him from the bonds that held him. A part of her wondered if she should perhaps be more cautious – if this semi-feral version of Spike might not freak out completely once he was free… *How long has it been since he was free?* she wondered, with another anguished sob, as she unlocked the left cuff from around his wrist. The vampire staggered slightly forward when the restraints were removed – and then immediately dropped down onto his knees, his head bowed low, his face to the floor of the cave -- that desperate, pleading whine that was almost painful for Buffy to hear, clearly audible again. “Spike – no,” Buffy found that her own voice was a whimper as she dropped to her knees on the ground beside him, tears streaming from her eyes. “No, don’t, Sweetie…it’s okay,” she tried her best to soothe him. “Don’t…” She rose up straighter on her knees, hovering over him as he seemed to be trying to bring himself as low as possible, an obvious and heartbreaking gesture of submission – and Buffy felt the slow-boiling rage that had begun in her heart intensify just a little bit more. As she took his arms and gently tried to get him to get up, she suddenly froze, as she caught her first glimpse of the mangled mess that had been made of his back. It was every bit as bad as his chest had been, but the wounds on his back had been aggravated by the harsh stone of the wall behind him, until his entire back was one big mass of raw, open wounds.  
  
Her eyes trailed slowly up the marred flesh that had once been so beautiful, remembering how his perfect alabaster skin had appeared in the moonlight under her hand...  
  
Her thoughts were cut off abruptly when her eyes reached the back of his head, now clearly visible to her in the torchlight -- and the Slayer's eyes widened with horror at what she saw. She raised a hand slowly toward the injury -- which seemed to have healed somewhat already, but was still ghastly, an open, gaping hole on one side, covered over with scar tissue.  
  
She knew better than to attempt to touch the wound, her mind racing as she tried to figure out what might have caused such a wound -- though she had the feeling that whatever had done it, was surely the cause of Spike's weakened mental state.  
 The Slayer hardly realized it as her eyes narrowed in fury that rose swiftly to the surface, darkening with rage, and her voice lowered slightly, almost a growl as she spoke without even meaning to. “Who *did* this?” The rage in her voice was all that the vampire understood, and he fought her gentle hands in an attempt to lower himself to the floor again, whimpering softly. Buffy’s eyes widened in dismay as she realized what she had done, and she pulled him gently but firmly up again, wrapping her arms around him in an attempt to keep him up. “No,” she whispered firmly. “No, Spike…no…it’s okay…don’t…” He froze at her words, his attempts immediately ceasing – and she realized with both relief and anger that there was at least one word she had spoken that he had understood. No. Her eyes narrowed again, though she was careful this time to keep her tone the same, soft and reassuring, as she murmured soft, soothing nonsense sounds in an effort to calm him. It was not the *words* that were soothing to him, after all -- just the soft, gentle sound of her voice.  
  
But the thoughts running through the Slayer's mind in that moment were anything but gentle.  
 She *would* find the person who had done this to Spike. And they *would* pay. ******************************************** He had been certain that the misery of his existence was about to come to an end – and he had been utterly grateful for it. To be eaten by the monster that had invaded his prison could surely be no more painful than the torment he had endured here -- and then, it would be mercifully ended. But then – that strangely familiar, almost musical voice had driven away the overpowering scent, the presence, of the foul creature that had been poised and ready to devour him. Somehow, Spike felt that he should have known her – though he could not begin to connect a name with the powerful voice he heard – strong and sweet – iron and silk…and in that moment, holding his existence completely in her grasp. *Dirty…ugly…bad…* The words echoed through his mind, words that he could not quite put definitions to – but the tone of his captor, using them again and again to describe the reactions of anyone who might find him, was irrevocably connected to those words in his mind. He could not quite comprehend the meanings of the words, not yet -- but he knew that in his captor's mouth, they defined him…and that those words, whatever else they might mean, meant that he was low…evil… unworthy to be in the presence of the woman who had come into his prison. The woman whose destiny it was to hold his fate in her hands. Frustration and terror mingled in his mind, as he struggled to comprehend the words she was saying to him…the reasons why her voice, her scent, were so familiar…and why he felt both terror and hope, battling within his battered spirit, for dominance of his being. And then…she was questioning him…and he couldn’t answer…had no idea what it was that she wanted… Gradually, he was beginning to get his memory of basic words and meanings back -- but he still could only make out a few, and could not begin to put together what the question was she was asking him -- let alone to find th answer.  
 …and he knew -- *knew* -- that she would hurt him, would strike him down, punish him for his disobedience. Except – she hadn’t. After months of nothing but bondage and torment and suffering – all of which he had been led to believe he deserved – the concept of mercy, of tenderness and compassion, was something that his mind could barely begin to conceive of. According to the brutal lessons that had been driven into him over the past few months, a glorious being such as he instinctively knew this woman to be should have nothing but pain and judgment for something as low and unworthy as he was. And yet, her hands, her voice, had been gentle, as she had unlocked his bonds, after – so very long… She had the power – he could sense it, feel it rolling off of her in waves…knew what she was instinctively, though he could not quite put a name to it. And yet – she had not hurt him. *She will,* the thought echoed through his mind ominously. *In time – she will…* He knew that kindness was not what he deserved. His world had been reduced to only so much – and what she seemed to be offering did not belong there…and therefore could not be real, could not last. Because in the nightmare that his life had become – it *always* came back to the pain. All he could hope for, was to do what he could to please her, and hope to hold off that moment of suffering as long as he could. But how could he hope to do that, he wondered with a sense of despair rising up in his broken heart – when he could not even comprehend what it was that she was asking of him?  
 *She’ll kill you,* he heard the soft, echoing voice of his tormentor in his head – and suddenly understood what he had meant. *When she sees what you’ve become – how pathetic and worthless you really are…she’ll dust you and put you out of your own and everyone else’s misery…*  
  
He had only been able to understand a few of the words -- but the general concept was clear.  
 The moment would come – he knew it. But until it did – he would do what he could to please this glorious golden goddess, who had released him from his bonds...perhaps only to put him into bonds of her own -- he could not know yet -- but it did not really matter.  
 Because if he had the choice of one slavery over another – he would choose to be hers.


	6. Chapter 6

Trembling, terrified, the wounded vampire waited anxiously on his knees on the floor of the cave, awaiting the command of the powerful woman kneeling beside him – his savior…or his destroyer…

 

He couldn’t know which just yet.

 

He wished that she would tell him what to do – or even do something to him herself – anything just to let him know what it was that she wanted from him. Clearly, she did not want him to do as his captor had required of him, on the infrequent occasions when he had actually removed his chains – though never for long, and always only to further brutalize him.

 

*On your face, you disgusting thing! Don’t move! Don’t you *dare* look at me!*

 

It had not mattered to the man that Spike could not even see – let alone deliberately look at him.

 

Spike shuddered at the memory of the menacing words, his trembling intensifying slightly. All he wanted was to find out what she wanted him to do – what he could do to please her – to avoid the punishment that he knew was in her hands to mete out.

 

It had been difficult for him to understand what was expected of him, from the man who had brought him here, kept him here; he had not been able to understand the words spoken to him, and therefore had no idea what the sharply spoken orders he had been given had meant.

 

But he had learned.

 

*On your knees! Don’t get up! Shut up that whining, you little nothing, or I’ll give you something to cry about! I said *don’t move*!*

 

Each order had been punctuated with violence. Beaten and screamed at and forced into whatever position his captor had wanted him in – he had finally managed to comprehend what he was supposed to do. Thus, the instant that this woman had removed his chains, Spike had fallen to his knees on the floor, his face to the ground, submitting to her without hesitation.

 

But apparently – that was not what she wanted from him.

 

A new sense of fear came over him as he simply waited, helplessly – wondering.

 

Then – what *did* she want?

 

******************************************

 

“It’s okay – it’s all right, Spike,” Buffy whispered gently, careful to keep her voice quiet and even.

 

She frowned, concerned and confused as without any real cause that she could see, he began shaking harder, his entire body visibly wilting – poised at a moment’s notice to fall directly back into the submissive pose she had stopped him from before.

 

It hurt her heart more than she could believe to see him like this.

 

No matter what hurtful things had passed between them – she knew that the damage she had done to him far exceeded the pain he had caused her. Whatever remaining anger she had held to him, over Anya, over his disappearance – all had vanished in the moment she had seen him, chained there in that cave.

 

Her immediate instinctive reaction to his obvious fear was to reach out, to touch him, to put her arms around him and offer him what comfort she could with her embrace – but she was also afraid to touch him, for fear of hurting him; she was not even sure she could find a place on his body to touch him that was not injured.

 

And she was not altogether sure that her embrace would be welcomed at the moment, anyway.

 

“Just wait a second,” she murmured soothingly, though she knew by now that he did not understand her, as she took her cell phone from her pocket. “I’m just gonna call…”

 

Her voice trailed off, as she realized suddenly – she had no idea *who* she was going to call.

 

Xander?

 

No. After what had happened between Spike and Anya, Xander’s hatred of the blonde vampire – which had been obvious for a long time, even before that – had intensified, until she knew that there was no way in the world that he would be willing to help Spike, even for her sake.

 

He would most likely just tell her to stake him and put him out of his misery, if he was so bad off.

 

Riley?

 

*No,* she decided, feeling decidedly uncomfortable at that idea. Riley had never understood her reasons for allowing Spike to live at all, even once he was chipped and helpless. That, added to the whole jealousy factor, what with Riley’s wanting to get back with her, and knowing about her history with Spike…

 

No…Riley would not be willing to help.

 

She found herself wishing desperately that Giles was there. While her Watcher might not agree with her as to the urgency of helping Spike right away, he would certainly not refuse, not after all that Spike *had* done to help them over the past few years – not if he knew how very important it was to *her* to save his life.

 

But Giles was *not* there – and it was becoming more and more clear with each passing moment, that Buffy was going to have to handle this on her own.

 

For one brief moment, she even considered calling her little sister. Dawn had managed to convince Buffy to let her stay home alone that night while she patrolled, so barring any of the typical teenage scheming that Dawn was so good at, she should be at home right now. The sixteen-year-old was learning to drive, and doing well – and for one insane instant Buffy considered calling her and telling her to bring the SUV.

 

But no – Dawn’s shaky driving skills aside, there was no way that she could let her little sister see Spike like this – not without preparing her for the shock of it.

 

*Looks like I’m out of options,* she thought grimly, closing the phone again and starting to put it away. *I can’t leave him – whoever did this might come back – and I don’t think a taxi’d come all the way out here…though at this point I’d gladly pay someone to…*

 

Her eyes widened with a sudden flash of inspiration.

 

*Anya!*

 

She hesitated for just a moment, before quickly making her decision and dialing the number for Anya’s new apartment. A few weeks ago, she had been unable to avoid going into the Magic Box, in need of some supplies to defeat a particular type of demon, and knowing that the little shop was likely the only place she could get what she needed.

 

It was the first time she had seen the ex-vengeance demon since that last encounter outside the Magic Box, that night when Anya and Spike had…

 

It had been a terribly uncomfortable reunion.

 

Anya still ran the store, with minor assistance and advice from her silent partner in England, but she kept her distance from what was left of the old Scoobie gang – which was, basically just Buffy, Dawn, and Xander.

 

Still, she had given Buffy her telephone number, and had asked her – rather awkwardly – to “please let her know if anybody got eaten or otherwise killed by a demon – because even though she felt too weird around them all now to actually hang out, it was still the sort of thing she wouldn’t like to not know about.”

 

And strangely enough, despite the unusual way Anya had of expressing herself – Buffy knew exactly what she meant.

 

That was the good thing about Anya – there was never any mistaking how she truly felt.

 

Buffy had no problem with the girl, really. She had been angry with her immediately following the incident, yes – but it had not taken her long to realize that of all the people involved in the situation, Anya had done no wrong whatsoever to anyone. She had already been dumped by Xander at the time, so she was not being unfaithful to anyone.

 

She wasn’t even being thoughtless or inconsiderate to Buffy – considering that she had had no idea of what had been going on between Spike and Buffy at the time.

 

*Which was absolutely a big fat nothing! You'd broken up with him already, remember?*

 

Buffy reminded herself sternly, a sense of guilt coming over her as she thought back to that night, back to the pain and desperation she had seen in the eyes of the little ex-demon, as she had stared up at Xander, venting her anger and indignation at his presumption, to tell her who she could and could not be with, now that he had already let her know that he did not want it to be *him*.

 

Pain that she had seen, clearly mirrored in the deep blue eyes of the vampire she had broken.

 

And now – someone else had broken him.

 

Buffy turned her head to look again at the fearful blue eyes of the kneeling vampire, now sightless, but still so very expressive. He was shaking violently, his entire body tensed in expectation of some move from her – some action or command.

 

She had none to give him.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered, edging nearer to him, while she waited for Anya to pick up the phone. She reached out a gentle had toward the only place on him she could see that did not bear some mark or injury – the back of his hand, which was pressed against the cold stone floor beside his rail-thin, trembling legs.

 

“It’s all right, Sweetie,” she repeated almost unconsciously, closing her hand gently over his.

 

He jumped at the unexpected touch, but did not pull away from her – though her soothing tone, the soft repetitive movement of her thumb across his cool, rough skin, did seem to calm him a bit.

 

With a weary sigh of resignation, Buffy was about to hang up the phone, when the eighth ring was suddenly cut off halfway through. A brief muffled sound of a scuffle was heard on the other end, as if someone was having difficulty actually getting the phone to their ear. A moment later, Anya’s sleepy voice was heard in her ear, demanding and irritated.

 

“Do you even *know* what time it is? I don’t know all that much about it, but I’m pretty sure most humans would consider calling at this hour very rude. I have to get up early in the morning and make money. Who is this?”

 

“It’s Buffy.”

 

There was a moment’s stunned silence on the other end, Anya’s tirade of annoyance cut off in an instant. Clearly, she had not expected to be hearing from the Slayer anytime soon.

 

“I – I’m sorry. About – waking you,” Buffy found herself stammering, suddenly unsure of what to say. “It’s just – well…”

 

Anya’s voice was suddenly clear and tinged with a note of panic, as the only reason she could think of for Buffy to be calling her at this late hour suddenly occurred to her.

 

“It’s Xander, isn’t it?” she demanded, her voice rising slightly with her fear. “Oh, my God! Is Xander hurt? Buffy, is he dead?”

 

“No, no!” Buffy assured her quickly, her eyes widening with horror. “He’s – fine, Anya, that’s not – I mean…I need your help.”

 

Anya was quiet for a long moment, obviously as surprised by those words as she had been to find out who it was calling her.

 

Buffy held her breath for a moment, hoping that Anya would not ask too many questions, not need too much explanation – because she wasn’t really sure how much longer she could hold on to the fragile grip she currently had on her emotions. She had no idea how much Spike was actually capable of understanding at the moment – but it hardly seemed right to discuss his condition over the phone, right in front of him – and she didn’t want to, either.

 

Buffy’s voice must have said what she could not have put into words at the moment – because after a moment, Anya spoke, her own voice quiet and resolved.

 

“What do you need, Buffy? What’s happened?”

 

“I need you to bring your car down here, right away. It’s – it’s Spike. He’s hurt – bad.” Buffy paused, attempting once again to control her rising emotions – but then giving up as she added in a tearful, pleading voice, “Please – there’s no one else I could call…”

 

“I’m gonna help you already, Buffy, just tell me where you are!” The impatience in Anya’s voice only made her concern that much clearer.

 

Buffy felt her own body begin to tremble as she explained to Anya where she was, and where to park her car, and how to find them.

 

“Just – follow the trail of green demon goo,” she instructed weakly, a little grimace on her face, followed by a sheepish, “Sorry.”

 

Anya shrugged it off and hung up the phone, after assuring her that she would be there in no more than fifteen minutes.

 

The Slayer hung up the phone, put it away in her pocket – and collapsed forward, rocking on her knees, weeping with relief.

 

Tears of relief turned into tears of fear and confusion and emotions that she could not even begin to put names to – until she felt something that made her go still, stunned and hopeful and not quite believing it was possible…but…

 

It was!

 

She looked down, wide-eyed, at her trembling hand that covered Spike’s, to see that he had turned his hand under hers, and was gently stroking his fingers across her palm in a gesture of comfort. She raised her startled eyes to his – almost disappointed to see them as sightless as ever – wondering at the reaction that she would not have thought possible from him, with the state he was in.

 

His head was bowed slightly, his eyes wide and intent, though aimed randomly at some point on the floor just beyond her – and she could see the concern, the confusion and uncertainty in his face that her tears had provoked. He did not seem to understand why she was upset, or any of what was going on for that matter.

 

But he *did* understand her tears – and was attempting to do what little he could to soothe them.

 

“Spike,” she whispered, an ache of sorrow and sympathy and gratitude all rolled into one overwhelming knot of emotion, tightening in her chest. “Oh, Spike…you never change, do you? You’ll always…”

 

She shook her head, her voice trailing off, as her eyes flooded with fresh tears. Once again she felt the desire to wrap her arms around him, to pull him close to her and hold him, until all this pain and misery just magically faded away.

 

But she knew that it was not to be.

 

Spike needed much more than comfort and affection to heal from whatever horrors he had lived through during the past few months. She did not know exactly what had been done to him, but she was not even sure that a complete recovery was going to be possible at all.

 

But that small, simple action on his part had given her hope that just maybe – maybe – it was.

 

She dared not do as she wanted so badly to, afraid as before that she might hurt him, or frighten him with the sudden movement – but she gently squeezed his hand, before relaxing her grip to hold it comfortably in hers, still whispering meaningless words of comfort to him all the while, as they waited in silence for Anya to arrive.


	7. Chapter 7

“Buffy? Are you down here? Where are you?”

 

Anya’s hesitant, apprehensive voice echoed through the empty halls, into the cavernous room where Buffy and Spike waited for her to arrive.

 

Buffy barely had time to feel relief at all at the presence of someone else, there to help her with this unexpected, painful burden of dealing with Spike’s devastated condition, when the damaged, frightened vampire beside her suddenly reacted with panic to the unfamiliar voice.

 

He jerked his hand back, away from hers, scrambling backward across the stone floor, back toward the wall, the pitiful keening sound beginning in his throat once more, as he struggled helplessly to put as much distance between himself and the intruder as possible.

 

“Spike – hey…Spike…” Buffy murmured, her tone soft and reassuring – or at least, she hoped it was – as she didn’t bother to get back to her feet, but just crawled slowly, cautiously toward him on her hands and knees. “It’s okay, Spike…it’s okay…she’s safe, she’s here to help, Spike…come here, Sweetie…”

 

His back was to the wall by now, his bony knees drawn up against his battered, emaciated chest as he apparently tried to make himself as small and invisible as possible. At Buffy’s softly spoken last few words, he cringed slightly, his expression making it clear that he did not want to obey.

 

But he did.

 

Buffy’s eyes widened in a combination of horror – that he obviously felt he had no choice but to obey her words, as an order – and hope, as he moved hesitantly, fearfully toward her, coming to rest beside her in the same humble position of submission he had gone to when she had taken off his chains.

 

Was it possible? Had he really understood what she had told him to do?

 

“Spike?” she whispered, so caught up in the excited hope birthed in her by his reaction, that she barely even noticed as Anya made her way into the room, guided there by their soft, urgent voices. “Spike? Can you – can you understand me?”

 

He simply stayed there in that awful position, apparently too confused and terrified to respond.

 

“Spike – get up…” she said softly, reaching down beside her to take him by the arms, her carefully gentle hands nearly recoiling at how painfully thin they were. “Come on, don’t do that, Sweetie, get up…”

 

She felt a tremulous wave of relief and hope wash over her as he immediately submitted to her touch, rising up on his knees in response to her words, his intently focused, yet unseeing eyes wide and anxious, as he waited for her next command.

 

He had already obeyed the last one.

 

“Did you – did you understand me, Spike?” she repeated hesitantly – letting out a shaky sob of relief, her face breaking into a smile when he nodded slowly and deliberately.

 

“Okay – okay, good,” she whispered, thinking aloud, her voice trembling with emotion. “So – there are *some* things…just not…everything…”

 

Her words trailed off as she thought back over the words Spike had responded to over the past hour – “no” – “don’t” – “come here” – “get up”…

 

A cold sensation went through her as her mind went through the various implications of those words – all commands – that Spike was still able to comprehend. She tried hard not to think about that right now – to focus on the good news, rather than the wealth of bad that seemed to so greatly outweigh it.

 

If Spike could still understand some words – then it had to be possible for him to relearn others – right? The wound on his head, however terrible it was, at least showed signs of healing – so, it was possible that he might still recover completely – wasn’t it?

 

“Oh my God.”

 

Anya’s soft, hushed whisper startled her; she had almost forgotten the presence of the other woman in the room. Buffy turned to look at her, without rising from her knees or relinquishing her gentle hold on the kneeling vampire beside her.

 

“What – what happened?” Anya asked, her voice softer now, not having missed Spike’s obvious flinch at the sound of her unfamiliar voice.

 

“I – don’t know,” Buffy struggled to get the words out, fighting back a sob. Now that someone else was here, the temptation to allow her feelings to overwhelm her was greater than ever. “I just – found him like this…he’s hurt pretty bad, and he – he doesn’t remember me. Doesn’t seem to – to remember much of anything…”

 

Anya slowly approached the kneeling pair, her eyes wide and troubled as she moved slowly around behind Spike, drawn in horror to the gaping wound on the back of his head.

 

Buffy felt Spike’s trembling increase as he sensed Anya behind him, much closer than he was comfortable with – and she gently tightened her hands on his arms, whispering soothingly to him to keep him from bolting, as the ex-vengeance demon (as far as Buffy knew, anyway) crouched down behind him, recovering from her initial reaction and leaning in closer to study the wound, while making no move to touch him.

 

“Shhh,” Buffy softly soothed him. “It’s okay, she’s not gonna hurt you…it’s okay, Spike, she’s a friend…it’s okay…”

 

Anya’s eyes flickered to Buffy’s face momentarily, one eyebrow raised in a slightly skeptical expression that lasted only an instant, before she returned her attention to the matter at hand.

 

“This looks…” she began, shaking her head slightly.

 

“…terrible,” Buffy whispered, nodding slowly in agreement to what she had thought Anya was going to say.

 

“Yes,” Anya nodded once, peering even more closely at the wound, tilting her head to the side and studying it from a different angle. “But – it looks like – Buffy, it looks like a gunshot wound.”

 

Buffy blinked, momentarily uncomprehending. The words were so completely unexpected, so different from anything she had suspected – for a moment, she couldn’t even wrap her mind around the concept. Spike had been -- *shot*? With a *gun*?

 

“But – who would…” she shook her head in confusion, her voice weak and uncertain as she finished in a stricken voice, “…who would *shoot* a vampire in the head? And…I mean…if you’re gonna go after a vampire, you’re gonna use a stake – right?”

 

Anya did not answer for a moment, her eyes having left Spike and trailing a slow circle around the room they were in – the makeshift torture chamber of someone’s design. After a few moments, she looked down into Buffy’s wide, searching emerald eyes, and replied in a soft, steady voice.

 

“Yeah – if you wanna *kill* the vampire.”

 

Feeling a steadily building sense of numbness tingling through her as her mind processed what Anya was saying, Buffy looked behind her again, at the bloodied chains hanging from the wall.

 

Spike had been kept here for a very long time – starved – tortured – abused to the point that the slightest touch, the softest sound, terrified him.

 

As Anya spoke again, Buffy felt the numb tingling in her chest change – slowly warming – gradually becoming a burning rage.

 

“This was personal,” the ex-demon observed. “Whoever did this – wanted to hurt him. Wanted him to suffer. They didn’t want him to die – not from the gunshot…and not right away.”

 

Buffy was silent for a long moment, swallowing back the rage rising up within her before she stated in a low, trembling voice of anger, “Who would do something like this?” She paused, shaking her head, before adding coldly, “I’ll kill them. I’ll kill them, Anya…”

 

The soft, pleading whimper that left the broken vampire’s lips drew Buffy abruptly from her anger with a wave of guilt and regret suddenly coming over her, as she realized that once again, he had misunderstood – having mostly her tone, not her words, to go by.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered for what felt like the hundredth time, trailing one hand gently downward to lock onto his again, as she reassured him, “I’m not gonna hurt you, Spike…it’s okay…”

 

“Buffy – we have to get out of here,” Anya reminded her, a note of urgency to her voice as she glanced toward the door. “Whoever did this – they could come back. Any time. We have no way of knowing how long it’s been since they’ve been here, and how long it’ll be before they get back.”

 

At first, Anya was not sure Buffy had even heard her words, as the Slayer remained focused on comforting Spike, soothing sounds rolling from her throat with a gentleness that the vengeance demon would never have associated with the Slayer – not before or after she had known her personally.

 

“Maybe it’s better if they *do* come back.”

 

Anya blinked, startled by the hard, cold sound of the Slayer’s voice when she finally responded to her words. Her eyes widened when she realized exactly what Buffy was saying.

 

“But Buffy – not that they don’t deserve it, no matter what – because, anybody who could do something like – like this…” Anya’s voice trailed off, as she shook her head, unable to find words for the utter decimation of the once strong, vibrant vampire she had known. Forcing herself to focus, finding her train of thought, she continued urgently, “…but Buffy…are you really ready to do that?”

 

“To do what?” Buffy’s irritation was clear in her voice, though Anya knew it was not really directed at her. The Slayer’s emotions were understandably very much on edge at the moment.

 

“To – to kill a human,” Anya clarified softly.

 

A moment of silence fell between them as Buffy realized what Anya was saying. Her eyes widened in shock; it was a possibility that had not even crossed her mind. The sheer brutality of what had been done to Spike had made her automatically assume that it had been done by some old demon enemy of his; the thought that the attacker might be human had not occurred to her.

 

“You think – you think a *human* did this?” Her voice was incredulous, aghast at the thought.

 

“Why would a demon use a gun?” Anya countered immediately, one eyebrow raised in obvious surprise that Buffy had not already thought of that question.

 

Buffy shook her head slowly, more than a little overwhelmed by the idea. “But – how could anyone – I mean – this is beyond…”

 

“This is vengeance.”

 

Once again, Buffy looked up at Anya, questioning without a word.

 

“If there’s one thing I know, it’s vengeance – and that’s what this is. This isn’t random in any sense of the word, and there’s no profit to be gained from doing this to Spike. It can only be payback – someone who thinks they’ve got a score to settle…”

 

“But – what could Spike have possibly done to deserve…”

 

“I’m not saying he deserved it,” Anya interrupted, shaking her head grimly. “Though,” she corrected with an apologetic little shrug, “we *are* talking 150 years of bloodshed and mayhem…so…it really could be just about anyone…”

 

“If they’re human,” Buffy was thinking out loud, her voice quiet and somber. “We’re only talking the last 50 years or so…”

 

“Unless whatever he did was to their ancestors, not the actual person who did this,” Anya pointed out.

 

Buffy sighed wearily, her head bowed as she tried to come to terms with the situation enough to actually deal with it. She was determined that she *would* find out who had done this to Spike. Whoever it was might well think that they were justified in seeking vengeance against the former Scourge of Europe – but as far as Buffy was concerned, *nothing* could possibly justify this.

 

But she would think about the complex, troubling ramifications of the situation later.

 

Right now – she had to get Spike to safety.

 

She gently shifted so that one arm was braced as lightly as possible against his torn and bruised back, cringing a little herself when he flinched, letting out a quiet little cry of pain – and then flinching again, as if he expected to be punished for the cry.

 

“I know,” she murmured, fresh tears falling down her cheeks. “I know it hurts, Spike…we’ve gotta get you home. Can you get up? Can you stand up, Spike?”

 

His slow, awkward nod told her that he had understood her words, and also that he was at least going to try to obey her – though Buffy had her doubts as to whether or not he actually *could* get up on his own.

 

“Let me help you,” she advised him gently – though it was quickly clear that he did *not* understand those words…probably hadn’t heard them once since he had been shot…as he struggled to rise on his own anyway – only to collapse back down onto his knees with a strangled sound that was almost a sob of frustration and despair.

 

“It’s okay…it’s okay, Spike,” she assured him, choking back her own answering sob, as she steadied her arm behind him, placing her hand under his elbow and trying to help him to stand.

 

Anya quickly moved in behind Spike on the other side to assist her, and between the two of them, they managed to get him on his feet.

 

“Okay – that’s it,” Buffy murmured, a tense frown of concentration on her face as she steadied herself, allowing her own shoulders to take the greater part of Spike’s weight. “Can you walk?”

 

He did not move, made no attempt to respond, and the convulsive swallow accompanied by a flash of fear in his face told her that he had no idea what she was asking him.

 

“Come on,” she tried again, gently urging him forward as she took a small, careful step toward the door.

 

His weakened legs faltered and nearly gave out, and he bit his lip hard enough to draw blood, in an attempt to muffle his moan of pain, as his battered back fell hard against her supporting arm behind him.

 

Anya was doing her best to help Buffy, but even with her restored strength as a vengeance demon – which she was trying pretty hard to mask – and Buffy’s Slayer strength combined, she knew they were going to have a difficult time getting Spike all the way back to the car without causing him severe pain. She would have employed more of her strength, but at this strained point in her relationship with Buffy and her friends, she wasn’t sure how safe she would be if Buffy found out that she was a demon again.

 

She glanced past the vampire they were supporting to catch a glimpse of the Slayer’s face – and the frustration was clear in her tear-filled eyes, in the stubborn set of her jaw, despite her trembling lips…

 

Anya rolled her eyes, heaving a weary sigh, resigning herself to whatever fate might befall her because of her reckless actions – but knowing that she could do nothing else.

 

“Screw it,” she muttered, releasing her grip on the injured vampire and standing up straight, moving around to face Buffy.

 

The Slayer gave her a surprised, uncertain look when she found herself suddenly bearing Spike’s full weight, wondering why Anya had stopped helping her – unaware that Anya was about to do all that she *could* to help her.

 

“Um, Buffy,” Anya began with the tone of a confession, glancing downward for a moment before meeting her gaze again apologetically. “There’s something I need to tell you – but – well – let me just get us to the car first…”

 

Buffy shook her head, confused, breathing heavily with exertion, not understanding what Anya was talking about.

 

But the next moment, she did – when with a wave of Anya’s hand, the three of them found themselves magically transported to the comfortable leather interior of Anya’s car, Anya in the driver’s seat, Buffy and Spike together in the back.

 

“So – yeah,” Anya went on casually, as if nothing had happened. “Teleportation – kind of cool perk of the – um – vengeance gig.”

 

Buffy was silent for a moment, still reeling from the unexpected trip, let alone Anya’s sudden revelation -- glancing around the car, trying to catch her bearings again before meeting the eyes of the anxious, expectant girl, craning her neck to look behind her at the occupants of the backseat.

 

“Oh,” the Slayer finally remarked, a bit weakly – but not the least bit angry. She shrugged slightly. “Okay.”

 

Anya breathed a heavy sigh of relief, turning around and putting the key in the ignition.

 

She froze at the next, completely unexpected word from the Slayer’s lips – spoken with a cold, dangerously calculating tone that said much more than the single word.

 

“*Good*.”


	8. Chapter 8

Spike sat completely still in the backseat of Anya’s car, disoriented and desperately trying to gain some sense of direction – of where he was.  
  
It was impossible.  
  
His limited memory of the world around him, narrowed by captivity and torment over the past few months, did not allow for something as unusual and surprising as teleportation.   
  
One moment, he had been in the cold, damp stone room that had been his prison – and the next, he simply – wasn’t.  
  
Where he was – that was the question.  
  
The slight hiss of pain from the girl sitting beside him alerted him abruptly to the fact that his hand had tightened on hers, without even realizing it, to the point of being painful. He immediately released her hand, pulling back across the seat until his back hit the door – which was much closer than he had expected.  
  
He had hurt her; there was no way that he would be escaping unpunished – not after hurting her.  
  
An attempt to move to the side brought his battered body in contact with the seat in front of him – and panic rose up in him, as he realized how tightly he was closed in, apparently on all sides. He felt his body begin shaking harder, and he drew back against the car door, shaking his head, terrified, and desperately confused.  
  
And then – she was talking to him again…and her tone surprised him.  
  
“It’s all right, Spike…you didn’t hurt me…it’s okay, calm down, I’m not gonna hurt you…”  
  
“Buffy – um – he’s not gonna freak out and make me wreck my new car – is he?” Anya asked anxiously from the driver’s seat, glancing in her rearview mirror, frowning in frustration when the reflection refused to shed any light on the actions of the panicked vampire that she could clearly hear from the backseat.  
  
None of the words made sense to him – none of them were words that he had heard much during the past few months. He had the concepts of “you” and “me” down – but that was about it.  
  
But the girl’s tone spoke volumes above her words – and he found himself calming slightly, a sense of guarded relief washing over him. Of course, he reminded himself, it was completely possible that she was tricking him – making him believe that she was not angry…only to punish him when he least expected it.  
  
Some people did that – he knew.  
  
But – she hadn’t. Not yet, anyway.  
  
He tensed slightly as he sensed her edging nearer to him across the seat, continuing to talk to him softly. “I’m not angry with you, Spike…I’m not gonna hurt you…”  
  
The words were meaningless to him…but her voice was so gentle, so soft…  
  
*Not angry…*  
  
*Not gonna hurt me…*  
  
*Safe…*  
  
Her message got through loud and clear, whether he could understand every word or not.  
  
Now – he just had to figure out whether or not she meant it.  
  
“Come here,” she whispered, reaching out a hand to close gently around his. “Come here, Spike…”  
  
He swallowed hard, hesitating only a moment before he scooted across the seat closer to her, his head bowed in submission, his slightly parted lips trembling with unshed tears of fear and uncertainty. He had no idea what she was going to do – knew that whatever she planned, there was little he could do about it.  
  
He had no choice but to obey.  
  
He flinched slightly when he felt the warm, silky skin of her arm come to rest lightly across his shoulders – probably the least damaged part of his almost skeletal back – but then found himself relaxing slightly when she did nothing else, simply held him close at her side.  
  
“You’re safe, Sweetheart,” she whispered reassuringly in his ear, her free hand coming around to hold his trembling one firmly in his lap. “It’s all right…just calm down…settle down, Spike, we’ll be home soon…”  
  
*Home*.  
  
It was an unfamiliar word to him – yet somehow, filled him with a warm, bittersweet ache that both soothed his fears, and brought him to the edge of tears again.   
  
After a few moments, when he realized that she was not going to do anything else to him, not going to hurt him – at least not yet, he was faced with a dilemma. His entire body was tense with the deeply ingrained expectation that at any moment, the inevitable pain would resume – his mind racing, trying so hard to understand what was happening, what was *going* to happen…  
  
And it was all just too much.  
  
He couldn’t comprehend it – so for the moment – he quit trying. Partly because he wanted so desperately to believe the promise in this woman’s gentle voice – and partly because whether she meant him harm or not, there was nothing he could do about it anyway – Spike allowed himself to relax into her gentle embrace.  
  
It was the first tenderness, the first touch that had not sought to hurt him, in as long as he could remember.  
  
Traumatized, confused and exhausted beyond any further labored thought – the vampire was asleep in moments.  
  
**********************************  
  
Anya pulled the car into the driveway of the Summers’ home, breathing out a sigh of relief at safely reaching their destination. Most of the ride there had been uncomfortably quiet – at least for Anya. She was never sure exactly what was appropriate to say to humans, especially in intensely emotional situations such as this – and yet, she knew that most people found long silences awkward as well.  
  
Since her relationship with Xander, she no longer had any idea what was okay and what was not, when it came to small talk.  
  
Not that “small talk” would be appropriate in this situation, anyway.  
  
At any rate – she was very relieved that the ride was over.  
  
Taking the keys from the ignition, she turned halfway in her seat – more than a little surprised at the sight that met her eyes.  
  
The bruised and battered vampire, looking terribly small and vulnerable in his starvation-ravaged condition, had fallen into a sound sleep; and in his sleep, he had unconsciously rested his head on the Slayer’s shoulder. Buffy had her arm around him, very careful not to further aggravate his numerous injuries; her other hand held his, her thumb gently stroking over the back of his hand in a repetitive comforting motion.  
  
Anya just wasn’t quite sure which of the two the gesture was intended to comfort.  
  
Buffy looked up at her, her expression more lost and sorrowful than Anya had ever seen the Slayer look before. Her cheeks were tear-streaked, her eyes red from silently crying the whole way there. When she read the clear distress in Anya’s eyes, at not knowing what to do or how to help, Buffy lowered her eyes, sniffling back her tears in an attempt to regain her composure.  
  
“I’m sorry,” Anya blurted out suddenly, earnestly. “That Spike’s hurt and brain damaged, and it’s upsetting you.”  
  
Buffy flinched slightly at the abrupt statement of the situation – especially the use of the term “brain damaged” – but forced a grateful little smile as she replied in a voice barely over a whisper, “Thanks, Anya…just…just help me get him inside, okay?” She moved to reach around Spike’s sleeping form and open the car door – and then froze, giving Anya a questioning look.  
  
“Can you just…?”  
  
Anya thought about it, giving a little sideways shrug and a nod, as she replied, “You have to invite him first…”  
  
Buffy looked at the surprisingly calm, still face of the sleeping vampire beside her, as she whispered, “You’re invited into my house, Spike…”  
  
The next instant, Buffy found herself and Spike, sitting in precisely the same position as before – only this time on her living room sofa. Anya was standing in front of them, a slightly self-satisfied expression on her face.  
  
“Nifty trick, there,” Buffy remarked, as she gently shifted her body away from Spike, trying to figure out a way to ease him awake, without sending him into a total panic.  
  
“You’re welcome,” Anya replied without hesitation. Her smile faded into an uncertain expression, as she asked hesitantly, “Can I – I mean – what do you need me to do to help you?”  
  
Buffy glanced up at the girl in surprise, before returning her full attention to Spike, as she replied slowly, thinking about her answer. “Um – can you get me a clean white sheet from the upstairs hall closet? I’d like to lay something down on the couch – I mean, if that’s where we’re gonna do this…”  
  
“Okay,” Anya agreed, heading toward the stairs. She paused at the bottom, turning around to face Buffy again. “Where we’re gonna do what?” she asked.  
  
“Get him – cleaned up. Bandaged. Whatever we can to make him more – more comfortable…” Buffy replied, frowning with confusion and uncertainty herself; she had no idea how to do this, what to do for a starving, beaten, tortured vampire with – brain damage.  
  
More than ever, she wished her Watcher was there.  
  
*Or Mom,* she thought wistfully, fresh tears springing to her eyes. *She’d know what to do. Mommy – I miss you…*  
  
“Don’t you think he needs blood, first of all?” Anya suggested, moving back toward the living room a couple of steps, undecided. “I mean – he’s been starved, obviously. He’s not gonna get better without…”  
  
“Right,” Buffy frowned. “I don’t have any…we’ll have to get some…first, though…I need that sheet, before we get blood on the couch…”  
  
She glanced down at the numerous injuries that scarred his back, sickened and a little disturbed to realize that although they were obviously open and aggravated, there really was very little blood.  
  
*Because he doesn’t have any left to lose,* she realized with dismay.  
  
“Oh – right,” Anya agreed with a nod of understanding, heading again for the stairs. She hesitated at the bottom again, half-turning to ask speculatively, “You’re the expert on bloodstains – how well does blood come out of leather?” Her unhappy frown told Buffy that she was thinking about the seat of her car.  
  
“Better than you’d think,” she murmured distractedly, her focus still on Spike, as she cautiously removed the support of her shoulder from under him, and he began to stir slightly, frowning as he began to wake up. She added as an afterthought, “Careful. Dawn’s asleep up there; don’t wake her up, I really don’t want her to see him like this.”  
  
Anya nodded again, and disappeared up the stairs.  
  
Beside her, Spike’s head suddenly jerked up, sleepy blue eyes suddenly wide open and staring at nothing, as he pulled back against her arm behind him – and then immediately let out a whimper of pain as her arm rubbed across the raw abrasions that covered his back.  
  
“Spike – it’s me, Spike,” she reassured him softly – only remembering after the words left her mouth, that who she was meant nothing to him at this point. “Calm down…you’re okay…it’s okay…you’re safe…”  
  
He froze at the sound of her voice – and she could see the change in his expression as he remembered the last few hours…going from utter panicked confusion, to guarded relief, mingled with uncertainty – and he stopped trying to pull away from her.  
  
“We’re gonna take care of you, Spike – get you all cleaned up and taken care of and fed – are you hungry, Spike?” Buffy cringed at her own stupid, thoughtless question, aware that she was rambling, but seemingly unable to stop.  
  
Spike blinked in surprise at her words – and then nodded slowly, emphatically, in response.  
  
Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise, as a slow smile spread across her face when she realized she had discovered one more thing that he understood. She repeated it, wanting to be sure. “You’re hungry? You want some blood?”  
  
He hesitated a moment, uncertain when she asked him again, before nodding a second time – though she felt his body tense under her touch, watched him flinch slightly as he replied.  
  
She felt that slow burn of anger rising up in her again as she thought of how terribly starved he was, and wondered how the promise of food or the threat to keep it away might have been used against him in the last few months.  
  
“Okay,” she assured him gently. “Okay, we’re gonna get you some blood as soon as we can, okay? I promise.”  
  
He did not respond at all, simply sat there with that uncertain look on his face – and she knew that he was once again unsure of what she had said, and therefore unsure how to respond.   
  
Thankfully, at that moment Anya reappeared at the foot of the stairs, an armload of sheets, pillows, and one soft, thick comforter in her arms – all of which she dumped unceremoniously on the floor beside the couch.  
  
Spike nearly jumped out of his skin.  
  
“Okay…let’s get up, Spike, okay?” Buffy gently directed him, supporting him as he struggled to his feet.beside her, clearly eager to do whatever she told him – probably to avoid the punishment that he still seemed to expect from her at any moment.  
  
Anya quickly laid out a doubled white sheet across the seat of the sofa, and hung a second one over the back of the couch, to protect it as well, before placing a single pillow on one end of the couch.  
  
“Okay…I need you to lie down, Sweetie,” Buffy told Spike, her voice trembling slightly, though slow and careful, not sure if he would understand her words or not – more troubled by the thought that he *might* understand them than that he might not.  
  
He *did* understand the softly spoken order – judging by the sudden intensifying of his shaking body against her arm – though he did not nod or give any other indication that he understood. He seemed frozen, rooted to his spot in terror.  
  
Buffy deliberately shut her mind to the possible causes of that terror.  
  
“Come on,” she urged him gently, leading him back to sit down on the edge of the couch, before carefully disentangling herself from the frightened, confused creature who was now clinging to her almost desperately as she helped him to walk.  
  
*And when exactly did *that* happen?* she wondered, not sure whether that was a good or a bad thing.  
  
She supposed that clinging to her for support, and perhaps security, was a definite improvement over cringing from her in fear that she would hurt him. Carefully, she rose from the couch, still holding his hand in hers to reassure him of her nearness.  
  
“Okay,” she said softly. “Lay back…” Gently, she pushed his shoulder downward, directing him to lie down on his back on the sheets.   
  
Although he yielded to her hand, she could feel the tension, the unconscious resistance in him, and realized again with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, that somehow this particular direction seemed to cause him even greater fear than before.   
  
*Don’t think about it, Buffy,* she ordered herself sternly. *Just don’t – not right now…*  
  
Anya moved quickly to help Buffy, to lift Spike’s thin, trembling legs up onto the sofa – and he jerked away from her unexpected touch in fear, crying out in the agony caused by the sudden movement.  
  
“Anya!” Buffy cried out in frustration, and some anger. “Don’t touch him!”  
  
“I was only trying to…”  
  
“Just – don’t, okay? He’s scared enough as it is!” Buffy cut her off, her voice trembling dangerously as she tried to soothe the startled vampire. “It’s okay, you’re okay, Spike, she’s not gonna hurt you…just…just lay down, Sweetie…”  
  
Obediently Spike pulled his legs up onto the sofa, slowly leaning back until he was lying down – but by now, he was shaking so hard that the entire couch was vibrating, and a low, pleading sort of whimper rose in his throat as he obeyed.  
  
“Buffy…” Anya’s voice was low, cautious, with a dark note of dread to it that made Buffy’s insides quake. “I think maybe…”  
  
“Don’t.” Buffy cut her off in a low, shaky voice, tears obscuring her vision again as they made their way down her face. “Anya, don’t say it…”  
  
“It’s just – you ought to be prepared – I mean – whoever did this obviously didn’t stop with the – top half of his body, and you’re gonna have to…” the vengeance demon rambled nervously, wanting Buffy to be prepared for the worst – which was looking more and more likely all the time, judging by Spike’s panicked reaction to her last order.  
  
“I know what I’m gonna have to do, Anya,” Buffy snapped, never taking her eyes off of the trembling, terrified vampire lying on the couch, waiting for – for what, exactly?  
  
Her voice softened in response to his flinch at her harsh tone, as he went on, “Just – please…” There was a note of defeat to her voice as she whispered, “Just – just go, Anya? Can you – can you go find him some blood, somewhere?”  
  
Anya was quiet for a moment, studying the expression on the Slayer’s face with a worried frown. “Okay,” she nodded finally. “I can do that – but – are you sure you don’t need me to…”  
  
“I can do this, Anya,” Buffy cut her off, more sharply than she had meant to. “It can’t be helped. I’m the Slayer, I’ll do what I have to do…” Under her breath, she muttered softly, “And it’s not like I’ve never seen him before…”  
  
She didn’t think that Anya had heard her last comment, as she nodded her acceptance and headed toward the door – until she heard her add in a slightly resentful whisper, “Yeah -- me either…”  
  
Buffy froze, her back stiffening in anger, before she whirled around to glare at Anya’s retreating back. Some sense alerted the vengeance demon to the Slayer’s attention, and she turned around to face her, her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows raised expectantly as she waited for Buffy to speak.  
  
“You were with him for one night,” the Slayer finally said, her voice trembling and full of barely controlled emotion. “One freakin’ night – not even that…more like half an hour…” She shook her head, struggling to find words, as the tears coursed down her cheeks again. “Spike and I – we had something, Anya…you have no idea how hard this is…I – I don’t have the first clue how to go about this, but – but I know that it doesn’t feel right to – to do this – with someone else in the room…at least, he had an actual *relationship* with *me*…”  
  
Her words cut off there, her eyes widening in surprise at the impact of what she had just admitted, for the first time.  
  
Somehow – keeping the secret didn’t seem all that important now.  
  
“Be careful, Buffy,” Anya advised gently after a long moment of silence, an expression of mingled sympathy and apprehension in her eyes that made Buffy look away. “Because – he doesn’t remember that.”  
  
Buffy looked up at her, startled – but the vengeance demon had already turned and headed out the door. Buffy took a deep breath, steeling herself for what had to be done next, as Anya’s cautionary words echoed through her mind. Finally, with an effort, she turned around to face the wounded, frightened vampire – lying on her couch, perfectly still, as if terrified of being caught disobeying her.  
  
She only hoped that she could make him understand that what she was about to do was not another violation.


	9. Chapter 9

The moment that Anya left the room, Buffy became acutely aware of the fact that she was once again alone with Spike – and not by any means the Spike that she would have had at least some clue how to deal with, either; but this broken, devastated version of the vampire that now lay on her couch, waiting in trembling apprehension, clearly expecting her to…

 

…to what?

 

What exactly was Spike so very afraid that she might do to him?

 

Buffy was terrified to find out.

 

“Spike?” she whispered, her voice weak and shaky. She really didn’t want to say anything – but knew better than to leave him unattended, even for a few moments, without at least trying to make him understand. “I need you to stay here for just a minute – okay? I need to get some things – I’ll be right back – okay?”

 

She did not really expect a response, so she was tremendously surprised – and relieved – when he nodded slowly, keeping his head turned away from her, his sightless eyes tightly shut. She had no idea, really, how much of what she had said he actually understood – but at the moment, she was all too eager to accept his response. She knew it was a terribly selfish reaction, but she simply had to not be there right then.

 

She made her way quickly up the stairs to the bathroom, where she immediately began going through the medicine cabinet and cupboards, searching for bandages, ointments – whatever first aid equipment she could find. Over the course of her years as the Slayer, she had learned that it was always a good idea to keep as much of such things as possible on hand.

 

She had a feeling that she was going to need as much as she had for this task – maybe more.

 

*You can do this, Buffy* she told herself firmly as she gathered her supplied. *It’s just Spike – he doesn’t remember, but he’s still Spike – you know him – you can handle this…*

 

She had managed to amass an armload of various items -- soft gauze bandages, four or five tubes of antibiotic ointment, among other things – and was just about ready to go back downstairs when she remembered a package of antiseptic wipes in the drawer under the sink, thinking that they would be much less messy and faster than the peroxide she had in her hand.

 

After a moment’s struggle to rearrange her load of supplies and put the peroxide down on the counter, she managed to get one hand free enough to pull the handle of the drawer – which promptly stuck, refusing to open.

 

*…but…* her thoughts continued as she tried to shift the load she was carrying enough to gain some extra leverage and force the drawer open, *…*he* doesn’t know *you*…not anymore…he’s scared of you…he’s…he’s scared of *everything*…who in the world could have *done* something like…*

 

Her final effort to open the drawer proved much stronger than she had intended, as the drawer did indeed come out – but splintered on the way out, so that it and everything in it, including the sought after packet of wipes, went clattering to the bathroom floor. In a useless attempt to catch the contents of the drawer before they fell to the floor, Buffy managed to drop her armload as well.

 

She stood there for a moment, staring at the floor around her in bleak disbelief. She tried to blink back the tears that threatened to fall again, as her lower lip began to tremble – and then, the torrent of her emotions overwhelmed her all at once, and before she knew it, she was on the floor amidst the mess, on her knees, her body racked with sobs.

 

It was all just too much.

 

“Buffy?”

 

She looked up suddenly, startled by her little sister’s hesitant, anxious voice from the bathroom doorway.

 

“Dawnie!” she whispered, making a pitiful attempt at a smile, though her voice was raspy and shaky with tears, and she knew her face had to be red and blotchy from crying.

 

There was no way she was fooling her little sister, who stood there for only a moment longer in the doorway, taking in the scene, her sleepy blue eyes full of concern, her long brown hair sleep-tousled over her Hello Kitty pajamas. In an instant, Dawn was crouched at her sister’s side, putting her hand on Buffy’s shoulder and leaning back a bit so that she could look her over.

 

“Buffy, are you all right?” Dawn asked her, her eyes quickly scanning for any signs of obvious injuries.

 

Buffy swallowed back another sob, as she replied with a forced – and in no way convincing – smile, “I’m fine, Dawnie, I just – just spilled – um…”

 

“Everything in the bathroom?” Dawn guessed, finishing for her dubiously, as she began to help hr sister pick up the various items scattered around the floor. She frowned when she realized that it was all first aid supplies. It was not all that unusual for Buffy to come home from patrol with some sort of injury.

 

What *was* unusual was for her to lie about it.

 

“Buffy?” she repeated, more than a little suspicious now. “If you’re not hurt – what are you doing with all these bandages and stuff?”

 

The trapped, stricken expression in Buffy’s eyes was a dead giveaway – especially considering the fact that she was far too shaken and exhausted at that point to even begin to come up with a convincing story for her sister.

 

Dawn looked her over again, more closely, running her hands quickly up and down her sides, then her arms – frowning when she saw no trace of blood, no broken bones. She raised her eyes to the Slayer’s face again, narrowed and searching for a moment – before they widened with apprehension.

 

“Buffy – they’re not for you, are they?” Dawn realized, a look of dread coming over her young face. “Who – who’s hurt?” As she spoke, she rose quickly to her feet, heading for the door – and the hall beyond.

 

“*No*!” Buffy objected frantically, her voice higher than usual and nearly panicked as she scrambled to get to her feet behind her sister, catching her arm just as she stepped out into the hallway, before she could start down the stairs. “Dawnie, don’t go down there!”

 

Dawn stared up at her incredulously, surprised by her reaction, glancing anxiously between her sister and the stairs she wanted to descend. “Who is it, Buffy?” she asked, turning fearful eyes to her sister’s face again. “What happened? Is it Xander?”

 

The fear in Dawn’s eyes tore at Buffy’s heart, and she was reminded again of how much the girl had lost, and how frightening the idea of losing one of the few people she had left must be to her.

 

“No,” she reassured her, her tone softening with compassion. “No, it’s not Xander…it’s…” Her voice faltered, and she lowered her eyes, realizing that she had no idea how to explain this to Dawn – no idea how to tell her that Spike was alive, not gone for good as they had feared – but he was in such terrible, damaged condition – so broken, just a shell of the person he had once been.

 

*Oh, Dawnie – how can I ever tell you?*

 

While Buffy wrestled with the dilemma, Dawn studied her expression, shaking her head slowly in confusion as she tried to figure out what was wrong with her sister. When Buffy finally raised her glimmering emerald eyes to hers again – Dawn let out a soft little gasp, her eyes widening with sudden intuitive understanding.

 

“You found him,” she whispered, hope rising in her voice. “Buffy, you found him – didn’t you?”

 

Buffy looked away, swallowing hard, unable to find words to explain what she had found.

 

Dawn jerked unexpectedly out of her sister’s grip, and Buffy was caught off guard, not prepared for her sudden movement. Dawn was two steps down when Buffy’s anguished, desperate cry stopped her in her tracks.

 

“Dawnie, *no*!”

 

Dawn froze, something in her sister’s voice giving her pause, as a cold, creeping sense of dread began to steal over her. She turned slowly, almost warily, not willing to allow her sister to physically stop her from going to Spike – if it was really Spike down there – but at least willing to hear what it was she had to say.

 

“Why not?” she demanded, her voice trembling, her shining eyes meeting Buffy’s in a challenge. “He’s my friend. Why shouldn’t I go to him?” When Buffy said nothing for a moment, a vague understanding began to rise up in the girl, and she added, her voice softer now, “What’s happened to him?”

 

“He’s – he’s – different, Dawnie,” Buffy began, her voice halting and trembling with tears, her eyes focused on the floor. “Someone – hurt him…really bad…and…” She raised her eyes suddenly, holding Dawn’s gaze intently as she stated the one fact out of all of this that was still so very difficult to believe – the one thing she thought might help Dawn understand the gravity of the situation.

 

“He – he doesn’t *know* me, Dawn.”

 

Dawn found that difficult to comprehend, herself; as long as she had known Spike, it had been obvious that his life had revolved around the Slayer – whether he had been trying to kill her, or in love with her at the time.

 

“How can he…what’s…what’s wrong with him?” she whispered, taking a step back up the stairs toward her sister.

 

“Someone – they shot him, Dawnie. They shot him in the head, and he – he doesn’t remember anything…I don’t think he even remembers who *he* is…They shot him, and – and they kept him – they – they hurt him, Dawn – I’m not sure yet – how bad…” Buffy tried to explain, trying to put it as gently as she could.

 

Dawn was silent for a moment, eyes widening as she slowly came to terms with that concept. “He – needs us to help him,” she said finally, backing down a couple of stairs again. “We have to help him…”

 

“Dawn.”

 

Buffy’s voice halted her progress again, and she froze on the stairs, her back to her sister – waiting.

 

“He – he can’t see. Can’t talk. He – he can hear us, but – but he doesn’t understand what we’re saying, Dawn. His mind – it’s – he’s -- *damaged*, Dawnie.” Buffy’s voice broke over the last few words, and a low sob that she couldn’t hold back filled the stillness that fell after her words.

 

Dawn stood there for a moment, trying hard to process what Buffy was saying, to reconcile her description with the vampire she had known before, the one with a smart mouth comment for every quip, the one who had defended her boldly against any danger…

 

She spun around again suddenly, an aching sorrow in her eyes as she looked at Buffy, tears streaming down her cheeks at the plight of her friend. Blind, confused, more utterly helpless than the chip had ever made him – among people who were strangers to him, at their mercy, whether they intended him harm or help…

 

“He must be – so alone,” she whispered, shaking her head. “Buffy – how could you leave him alone?”

 

Buffy drew back slightly at the question, shaking her head slowly. “I – I had to – to get…”

 

Dawn nodded slowly, understanding. Then, after a moment, she declared quietly, “I’m going down there to him.”

 

“Dawn – wait!” Buffy cried out, following her sister as she made her way decisively down the stairs, the determined set of her jaw clearly visible on Dawn’s face as she followed her – unable to do anything to stop her at this point.

 

Dawn stopped short at the foot of the stairs, frozen in shock at the sight of her friend – lying on the sofa, shivering uncontrollably with fear, or pain, or cold…there was no way to know for sure. At the sound of their approach, he drew back further against the sofa beneath him, shaking harder, letting out a soft, pleading whimper of fear.

 

Dawn took a step toward him – stopped by Buffy’s gentle but firm hand on her shoulder behind her.

 

“Dawn – don’t – don’t scare him,” she whispered. “He’s…”

 

“…already scared,” Dawn observed, cutting her off, her young voice unyielding as granite as she shook her sister’s hand off her shoulder, though not unkindly. “And he will be – until we give him a reason not to be.”

 

With slow, even, cautious steps, Dawn made her way from the stairs toward the sofa, her wide eyes taking in the shocking sight of her friend’s battered, bloodied body, starved to the point of death, had he been human.

 

“Spike?” she whispered, slowly and carefully. “Spike? It’s me – Dawn. Your – your Niblet…” Her voice broke slightly over the word, and fresh tears streamed from her eyes as she approached him. “Do you – do you remember?”

 

Spike did not respond – did not move…

 

At all.

 

As she spoke softly to him, edging nearer to him all the while, Buffy was surprised to see that his shaking seemed to fade away, and he turned his head back to face them, as if seeking for the source of this new voice.

 

Dawn halted for a moment at the sight of his unfocused eyes, still as blue and piercing as ever – but then continued her steady, cautious progress. “It’s all right, Spike – I’m your friend – I’m not gonna hurt you…” she went on gently, as she reached his side, dropping softly to her knees beside the couch.

 

“I’m right here – I’m close to you – don’t be afraid,” she went on, stretching out a hand slowly toward his. “I’m – not gonna hurt you, Spike. I’m gonna – touch you – touch your hand, Spike – but I’m not gonna hurt you…never…”

 

Buffy tensed, stepping automatically toward them, wary of the vampire’s reaction when her little sister touched him, instinct telling her to prevent it – yet fearful of what might happen should she disrupt the almost spell-binding scene in order to do so.

 

Dawn’s young face held a trust, an innocence, that nearly took Buffy’s breath, as she watched her sister do all that was in her power to reach out to her hurting friend. She knew that he couldn’t see her, understand her, didn’t remember her – and yet it was obvious in her eyes that she still believed, with a firmness of conviction, that somehow her love for him, the friendship they had shared, could transcend all that.

 

Buffy did not know if it was possible – but she was willing to let Dawn give it a try.

 

When Dawn’s slender fingers came into contact with Spike’s hand in the lightest breath of a touch, the vampire jumped slightly – but then was still, his trembling all but ceased, his rapid, unnecessary breaths the only thing to give away the terror that still consumed him.

 

“Spike…you’re safe now…with Buffy and me…we just wanna help you, Spike…we – we love you…we’re not gonna hurt you,” she went on, her eyes focused on Spike, and not noticing her sister’s flinch and the little sob she choked back at the sentiment Dawn had expressed for both of them.

 

Dawn’s fingers gently stroked the back of Spike’s hand, as she repeated herself again and again, just allowing her soothing, gentle words and touch to reach out to him. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “Spike, it’s okay…you’re safe now…” She looked up through tearful eyes to meet his, searching for any spark of recognition, though not surprised not to find it. Almost mesmerized by the wide, still expressive pools of blue that stared unseeing back at her, Dawn found herself raising a gentle hand toward his bruised cheek.

 

“Dawnie…” Buffy whispered, her voice a hoarse rasp.

 

Dawn ignored her.

 

Buffy took another step forward, uncertain. Spike had made no attempt to strike out at her or Anya, no matter how frightened he had been; she was fairly certain that any violent reaction had been brutally trained out of him.

 

Still – she couldn’t be completely sure…and with Spike in such a precarious mental state…

 

Before she could stop her, Dawn had laid her hand to his cheek in a tender caress – and Buffy held her breath, waiting for his reaction.

 

“I love you, Spike,” Dawn whispered, her voice thick with tears. “I love you…”

 

The vampire did not move for a moment – did not even breath…

 

And then – ever so slightly – Dawn felt him press into her touch, as the soft whimpering sound ceased....and a single cool tear slid down the gaunt and bruised face to land against her skin.

 

“It’s okay, Spike,” she whispered again, allowing her own tears to fall freely. “It’s okay…you’re home.”


	10. Chapter 10

Spike just lay there, his trembling hand clinging to the soft, small one of the girl kneeling beside the couch, not understanding why he felt the way he did, why he wanted so badly to keep her close to him – only knowing that somehow, her nearness gave him a sense of safety, and warmth, and a sweet relief that he had not known – well, *ever*, as far as he was concerned…as far as he could remember.

 

He could not explain, or even begin to put words to the emotions that had washed over him at the simple sound of her voice – only knew that before she had entered the room, he had been terrified, aware of nothing but his own helplessness in the hands of the powerful woman who had brought him to this place, and not quite sure yet whether she intended to hurt him or to help him.

 

And now – he did not know how it was possible – but he felt a sense of security, of trust – as if somewhere deep inside of him, he knew beyond all doubt that this voice could be trusted…this person would not harm him, or allow him to be harmed, if she could help it.

 

There was a tenderness, a sincerity in her voice, and although he could not understand the words she spoke – for kind words had not been spoken to him at all before this night, that he could remember, anyway – he understood the emotions she was trying to express to him, and knew without question that she meant him no harm.

 

When he felt the warm, silken touch of her hand against his face, he froze completely, a sudden, instantaneous rush of terror washing over him – because no one had touched him in so long, without the intent to cause him pain – but then relaxed, as the touch proved to be a gentle caress, reassuring and tender and speaking volumes more than her meaningless words.

 

And in that moment – something within the wounded, devastated creature that he had become, shattered under the incredible power of that soft touch. Spike had not cried in weeks – maybe months – as the last time he had, his tears had been met with threats and violence. He had thought that there was nothing left in him to break – that he was completely destroyed by what had been done to him already.

 

But with that soft touch to his battered face, clearly seeking to heal the harm that had been done to him – something inside him *did* break…yielding release to the emotions that had been building up inside him for so long.

 

Somehow, he knew that there would be no punishment for his tears – not this time – not from *her*…yet he still tried to fight them back, so deeply ingrained in him was the knowledge that he did not deserve the luxury of tears – he deserved whatever suffering was handed to him, and therefore hadn’t the right to cry about the horrors he had been through.

 

Though he tried his hardest to hold it back, he was not accustomed to fighting against the tenderness and compassion that he was being shown in that moment – and despite his best efforts, a single tear slipped down his cheek, sliding down his face to strike the warm hand that rested there.

 

Spike drew in a sharp, unneeded breath – his unbeating heart suddenly seized in the grip of icy terror.

 

He had disobeyed.

 

Broken the rules.

 

He would surely be punished…

 

But – he wasn’t.

 

The gentle hand against his cheek shifted slightly, and he flinched out of habit, expecting to be struck for his infraction – but the girl’s thumb moved gently across his cheek, wiping the single tear away, as she leaned down over him, whispering tenderly, words that he could not understand.

 

But the meaning came through loud and clear.

 

He was safe.

 

She was not going to hurt him.

 

A powerful wave of gratitude and relief came over him, for somehow he knew that this was not like the cruel games his captor had played with him, leading him to believe that he would be shown mercy, only to punish him more viciously than before. He could sense the sincerity, the genuine compassion, in this girl, and knew that when she promised not to hurt him…

 

…she *really* wouldn’t hurt him.

 

And with that powerful realization – the floodgates of Spike’s battered emotions fell open under the onslaught of his pain and fear, and tears streamed down his face, as ragged, breathless sobs tore from his throat.

 

********************************

 

Dawn’s eyes widened, stunned, when the vampire broke down completely, tears flooding from his eyes to soak her hand, and the couch beneath him – and the desperate, broken sound of his sobs tore at her heart, causing her own tears to come faster, blurring her vision as she leaned down over him without hesitation, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close to her, heedless of his injuries, or the blood that stained her white pajamas.

 

She knew that in that moment, no slight physical pain caused by her actions could be greater than the agony he had already been through, and he needed the embrace she offered him more than he needed his wounds to be treated – more than he needed the blood that his body was starving for.

 

She was vaguely aware as his shaking hands rose tentatively from the sofa, reaching toward her as if to pull her closer to him – but then hesitated, pulling back…not quite daring.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered in his ear, reassuring him. “It’s okay, Spike, you can touch me…it’s okay…I’m not gonna hurt you…”

 

The reassuring tone of her words seemed to encourage him, and he reached his hands up again – only daring so much as to clutch weakly at the sides of her pajamas, holding her to him, in a desperate attempt to hold onto the comfort of her nearness.

 

Dawn had no intention of going anywhere.

 

As he hand came gently to rest at the back of his neck, holding him close to her, he flinched slightly, momentarily unnerved by the nearness of her hand to his injured head – and Dawn stilled her hand, remembering what Buffy had said about what had been done to him.

 

She resisted the impulse to pull back and look at the wound, to see for herself how bad it was – knowing that exactly what she was doing at that moment was so much more important.

 

“Shhh,” she whispered. “It’s okay…I won’t touch it…won’t hurt you, Spike…trust me…”

 

The tension slowly seeped out of him with her gentle words, and after a moment, he tilted his head forward slightly, resting his forehead against her shoulder, burying his sobs in her shirt, by now nearly soaked through in spots with his tears. When his tears slowly began to ebb, Dawn cautiously attempted to pull back from him – and he clutched tightly at her clothes, a soft, pleading cry expressing his desperation to keep her there.

 

“I’m not leaving,” she promised him softly, as she reached down to take his hands and he reluctantly allowed her to gently disentangle them from her clothes. “I’m gonna stay right here, Spike…we’re gonna help you…make you better, okay? Okay, Spike? I’m gonna stay right here.”

 

She did not know if he understood any of what she had said, but he did seem to relax a bit, releasing his death grip on her pajamas, and allowing her to move away from him enough to turn and face her sister, though she held his hands firmly in her own, reinforcing her promise not to leave his side.

 

Buffy’s breath was nearly taken away by the stunning look of strength and determination in the brilliant shining eyes of the woman-child kneeling there by the sofa – her long hair disheveled and dampened with tears and blood, her innocent child-like pajamas stained with blood – the evidence of her reckless compassion.

 

“Go get the stuff from upstairs,” Dawn said softly – and for some reason, in that moment, Buffy thought nothing of accepting the order from her little sister. “I think he’ll be okay for us to clean him up now.”

 

Buffy hurried up the stairs, her mind racing with what she had just seen over the past few minutes – amazed and awed at the way the vampire had reacted to her sister, wondering how Dawn could manage to have such success in getting through to him, when her every attempt had failed.

 

*You never were that good at fixing things, Buffy,* she reminded herself harshly, wiping roughly at her tears as she reached the bathroom and crouched down to pick up the abandoned first aid supplies. *Especially broken *people*. No – you’re much better at breaking them in the first place. Hurting – destroying – killing – it’s what you do, isn’t it? You’re the Slayer – you’re an expert at it…*

 

She shook her head in disgust at herself, as she started back down the stairs, bandages and ointments and antiseptic wipes in tow.

 

*No wonder he doesn’t trust you – even if he *could* remember you – why in the world would he trust you?*

 

By the time she reached the living room, Dawn had taken enough charge of the situation to get the blonde vampire sitting up on the couch, and was looking over his injuries with a pensive frown.

 

“His back’s much worse,” she informed Buffy softly without looking at her.

 

“It was – against the wall,” Buffy replied flatly, beginning to feel that numb sense of exhaustion that inevitably follows a good cry – except she didn’t really feel as if she’d had a good cry, not yet.

 

She felt like she still had plenty of tears left to go.

 

“Why did you have him lying on it? That had to hurt, Buffy…why didn’t you do that first?”

 

Buffy frowned, feeling guilty and foolish for her thoughtlessness. “I just thought we ought to – make sure he’s not hurt worse – somewhere else…before…”

 

Dawn’s eyes widened in troubled understanding, and welled with fresh tears as she raised them once again to her friend’s anxious, uncertain face. “Oh,” she said weakly. “I hadn’t…thought of that…”

 

“But – but you’re right,” Buffy went on, trying hard to sound stronger, to relieve some of the burden Dawn had taken on herself from her little sister’s shoulders. “We should do his back and chest first – and then once that’s all taken care of and bandaged, take care of – the rest…”

 

Dawn nodded, sitting down beside her friend on the sofa and putting her arm gently around his shoulders in a steadying touch – for which he seemed very grateful, leaning unconsciously into her arm, his face turned slightly toward her, seeking contact.

 

“And by the time we get through with that – he should understand by then that when we – do the rest -- we’re not gonna do – whatever – whoever did this, did to him…you know?” Dawn pointed out, her young voice trembling slightly over her cautious words.

 

Buffy’s eyes shot up from the supplies she was laying out on the coffee table, giving her sister a piercing glance, studying her expression – and coming to the conclusion that despite her caution, her attempts to shield Dawn from the worst of her suspicions, the bright young girl had figured it out for herself.

 

She wanted to say something to soothe Dawn’s fears – the fears she also shared – but knew that if they were proved unfortunately right, it would be of no service to the girl to have given her a false sense of relief beforehand; and if their fears were proven wrong – well, then it wouldn’t matter anymore, anyway.

 

“Let’s hope it’s not that bad,” she said softly.

 

Opening the package of antiseptic wipes, Buffy moved carefully over to sit down on the sofa, on Spike’s other side – feeling an unreasonable sense of irritation, which she promptly squashed, when Spike tensed up as he sensed her approach, leaning in closer to Dawn.

 

*That’s not fair, Buffy,* she told herself sternly. *It’s not his fault that Dawn’s actually given him a *reason* to trust her – and you never have.*

 

Quickly seeing the problem, Dawn gently tightened her arm around him for just an instant, speaking softly, soothingly to him. “It’s okay…she’s not gonna hurt you, Spike…we’re gonna help you…okay? I’m right here…it’s okay…she just wants to make you better – okay?”

 

His expression remained uncertain, apprehensive – but he nodded in response to her words…though neither girl was sure whether he really understood, or was just trying to give Dawn the response he thought was expected.

 

Dawn gently pushed him slightly forward, giving Buffy better access to his torn and bleeding back – and the Slayer, proceeded, as gently as possible, to clean the dried blood and grime from the countless wounds that marred his once flawless skin. The injured vampire winced at the sting of the antiseptic, but did not complain or try to pull away – and Dawn hoped that he genuinely understood that it was for his good, and was not simply accepting what he believed to be more abuse.

 

It took a long time, but between the two of them, Dawn and Buffy eventually managed to get every last mark on his back and chest cleaned, treated, and bandaged. Buffy found herself sickened at the extent of his injuries – bruises, cuts, various burns, and marks that were clearly whip lashes, layered over his body as evidence of many torturous sessions of suffering and pain – for the sadistic pleasure of whatever human monster had done this to him.

 

A cautious, gentle probing of his torso resulted in an agonized – though muffled – cry of pain from the vampire, who clung tighter to Dawn, as she tried desperately to reassure him, tears streaming down her face. Thus they discovered that he had at least a couple of broken ribs as well, and Buffy carefully set about wrapping them, as tight as she comfortably could.

 

As Buffy carefully taped the last of the bandages across his stomach, she let out a weary sigh. “Let’s take a little rest…and then we’ll see to the rest.”

 

Dawn nodded her acceptance as she cradled the softly weeping vampire’s head against her neck, aware that her sister was more concerned with Spike’s ability to take any more right then than she was with her own. It was for his sake that Buffy wanted to take a break.

 

Buffy fell back slightly on her knees, resting her head on the coffee table beside her, and Dawn just sat there, comforting her friend. Neither one said a word for a long time, aside from Dawn’s softly murmured shushing sounds, directed at Spike.

 

Finally, the younger sister asked softly, “Buffy – did you really think you were going to be able to do all this on your own?”

 

Buffy did not look up at her for a long moment, thinking of Anya, who had really been gone for quite a long time, remembering with regret the way she had spoken to her just before she left.

 

*It’s not her fault – none of it,* she admitted wearily to herself. *She’s just trying to help – and you bit her head off. Wouldn’t blame her if she doesn’t come back at all…*

 

At precisely that moment, she heard the quiet click of the front door opening, and turned quickly to see who it was, cursing her own thoughtlessness in leaving it unlocked. Fortunately, it was just Anya, who had chosen not to knock to announce her prescence, for the sake of the rather jumpy vampire that she knew was in the room.

 

Buffy threw her a tired, grateful smile – which the vengeance demon graciously returned, as she set the paper bags full of plastic bags full of blood down on the coffee table. The Slayer turned to her little sister, who was looking up at Anya in surprise, as she finally answered her question quietly.

 

“No. I didn’t.”


	11. Chapter 11

Anya and Dawn regarded each other for a moment, equally surprised at each other’s presence in the room.

 

Not surprisingly, Anya was the first to break the silence.

 

“So you changed your mind, then?” she asked Buffy as she took a packet of blood – standard hospital issue – from the brown paper bag on the coffee table and headed cautiously closer to the couch, holding it out for Buffy to take it.

 

“Not exactly,” the Slayer replied flatly, not looking at the vengeance demon or her sister as she spoke.

 

“Not cold,” Dawn said suddenly, as Buffy took the blood bag from Anya. “Put it in the microwave – 55 seconds on high.”

 

Buffy turned and looked at her quickly, an expression of surprise on her face, as Anya took the bag back from her and headed for the kitchen without a word.

 

Dawn shrugged at the unspoken question, replying simply, “Last summer – while you were gone – Spike practically lived here half the time.” She paused, her tone taking on a wistful quality, her eyes softening with tenderness as she looked at Spike again, and added softly, “There’s a lot of little things I still remember.”

 

Buffy was surprised herself at how easily she accepted that – and she found herself wondering idly why it would have been such a big deal in the first place, had she found out before all this just how close her sister had been to the chipped vampire.

 

Dawn’s tone did not change, and she did not take her eyes from Spike’s face as she remarked quietly, “So – you weren’t going to tell me.”

 

Buffy glanced up at her from her spot on the floor, a bit guiltily, before looking down again with a sigh. “Not tonight,” she clarified. “I just – I didn’t want you to see him like this. I knew – it’d be hard. I would have told you in the morning, after I had him all cleaned up and settled and everything – but – if you hadn’t happened to wake up…” Her voice trailed off, as she shrugged again, not quite sure how to finish.

 

Dawn nodded slowly, looking at her sister thoughtfully. “I get that,” she conceded softly.

 

There was a moment’s silence between them, each girl lost in her own thoughts, before Buffy spoke again, her voice trembling slightly with a quiet gratitude.

 

“I’m *glad* you did happen to wake up.”

 

Before Dawn could respond, Anya reappeared, a large glass of steaming red liquid in her hand. Buffy swallowed back a natural sense of revulsion at the sight of it, giving Anya a questioning look, wondering why she had bypassed the usual choice of a coffee mug for the clear glass which made it all too clear just what was being served to the injured vampire.

 

Anya shrugged slightly, understanding what Buffy was thinking without her saying a word. “I figured he needed a little more than a mug would hold,” she explained, handing the warm glass to Buffy.

 

Immediately, Buffy’s disgust melted away in the face of Spike’s obvious need, as she accepted the glass and turned toward the vampire – who had visibly tensed, apparently at the scent of the blood, judging by the odd upward tilt of his head, the way he kept sniffing the air, his eyes wide and disbelieving, as if he could not quite make himself believe that he was actually about to be fed.

 

“You hungry, Spike?” Dawn asked gently, more for the sake of casual conversation, aimed at making him feel comfortable, than genuinely seeking an answer. She *knew* the answer to that question, beyond all doubt. “We’ve got blood here for you…”

 

Before she could go on, much to the horror of all three women, Spike had leaned forward, falling from the couch to his knees on the floor, his head bowed low in pleading submission.

 

Unfortunately, he had no way of seeing what was around him, of knowing what obstacles might be in the way of the gesture that his training in captivity had led him to believe was required of him. Instead of the floor, as he had intended, his face encountered the Slayer’s lap – at which point he scrambled backward, startled, knocking into the coffee table and sending himself into a further panic – not to mention nearly spilling the glass of blood in Buffy’s hand.

 

Dawn swiftly took the glass from her sister’s hand before it could spill, as Buffy regained her balance, crouching down on the floor between her sister and the cringing, cowering vampire, who was huddled against the couch, not daring to move any further, disoriented and unsure of his surroundings.

 

“Shhh,” Dawn whispered soothingly, holding out the glass as she dropped to her knees and crawled slowly toward him. “Spike…it’s okay…you don’t have to beg for it, Spike…it’s right here…come here, Spike…”

 

He hesitated only a moment before starting toward her, his movements halting and uncertain, hanging back slightly as if still expecting to be punished for some nameless mistake – though Buffy could not imagine anything he had done that he might think deserving of punishment.

 

When he grew close enough to her, Dawn reached out her free hand to close firmly around his, and then rose to her feet. Assisted by Anya, she helped Spike to sit down again on the sofa, and then pressed the warm glass into his trembling free hand.

 

“Go ahead,” she whispered. “Drink…it’s okay…”

 

Apparently, that was another command that he was familiar with, because Spike quickly, gratefully raised the glass to his lips, draining it in a matter of seconds, and holding out the empty glass in the vague direction of the girl who had given it to him, his head humbly bowed.

 

*So fast,* Buffy thought, shaking her head slightly in surprise. *Almost as if – he’s afraid we’re gonna take it away from him…*

 

She forced herself to take her thoughts from the smoldering anger, ever present in her chest since the moment she had found him, and to focus them on Spike, and what he might need from her in this moment. There would be plenty of time for justice later – and she *would* get justice for Spike, of that she was certain – but for now, she had to focus on helping him get well.

 

“Do you want more?” Dawn asked softly, taking the glass from him.

 

He frowned slightly, uncertain.

 

“More blood? Do you want more, Spike?”

 

The frown deepened, frustration obvious in his expression, though he made no attempt to respond – he did not understand the question.

 

“He has to,” Buffy stated quietly, her eyes focused on Spike’s face, her heart breaking at the pitiful struggle clear on his features, to comprehend something that he simply couldn’t, his memories of such simple concepts having been ruthlessly torn from his mind. “He’s starving…he has to need more…”

 

Anya immediately turned and went back to the kitchen to get more blood, leaving the Summers sisters alone with Spike. Dawn’s eyes narrowed slightly as she sat there on the couch beside him, a contemplative expression on her face.

 

“What?” Buffy asked her curiously. It was clear that the littlest Summers’ mind was racing with some inkling of an idea.

 

“I was just thinking – I – I wanna try something…” Dawn replied thoughtfully, as Anya returned to the room with the second glass of blood, this time bypassing Buffy completely and handing the glass to Dawn.

 

Spike’s free hand – the one that wasn’t clutching Dawn’s for dear life – twitched slightly in his lap with anticipation, but he did not dare so much as to actually reach for the blood that was now in her hand.

 

“Spike – I have more blood here,” Dawn spoke slowly and clearly, though she was fairly certain he didn’t understand more than one or two of the words. “Do you want more?”

 

He hesitated, biting his lower lip as a slight frown of concentration furrowed his brow.

 

Dawn slowly, deliberately placed the glass in his free hand, but still held onto it with her own, holding it down in his lap, not allowing him to raise it to his mouth just yet.

 

“*More*,” she stated firmly, pressing her hand around his, around the glass. “Do you want more, Spike?”

 

Buffy held her breath, biting her own lip in anxious anticipation, eyes wide as she waited to see if her sister’s attempt would work – and then felt her heart dance for joy when the vampire slowly, cautiously nodded, as if not quite sure if he had understood what was being asked of him or not.

 

But he had – he really had!

 

Dawn’s laugh of joy and relief held an almost musical quality as she released his hand, exulting softly, “Good! Good, Spike! That’s very good! Go ahead, drink it…it’s yours…”

 

The sightless blue eyes lit up with some emotion that Buffy had been beginning to fear she would never see there again, and his lips quirked just slightly upward in the barest beginnings of a tentative smile, at the simple praise of the young girl.

 

*God, how long has it been since anyone’s even said a kind word to him?* Buffy wondered, her heart both aching for him and rejoicing for him at the same time.

 

The second glass of blood was gone as quickly as the first had been, and this time when Dawn asked Spike if he wanted more, he immediately responded with an emphatic nod, much to the immense satisfaction of all three girls.

 

“Okay,” Anya agreed, a slightly warning note to her voice despite the smile on her face. “But this should be the last one for now. We don’t want to give him too much too fast, or it could end up just coming right back up – and that’s no good for anyone. He won’t get any nourishment from it, and you two will just end up scrubbing blood out of your carpet for hours, so…this should be the last one,” she informed them matter-of-factly. “For now.”

 

Buffy nodded, a slight grimace of distaste on her face at the thought of the mess that would make, as she agreed, “Just one more.”

 

When she turned to meet the wide eyes of her little sister, they were shining with a new hope, as she gazed up at her with excitement. “He learned that, Buffy – that quickly! Maybe he can’t remember everything yet – maybe some of it he never will – but – if he could pick that up that quick – then – he’s not stupid, Buffy…he’s not – brain dead. He can learn it all back…”

 

Buffy nodded slowly, the hope in Dawn’s voice taking root in her heart as she took in the words. She had been secretly wondering if it was possible that Spike would ever recover completely.

 

He had vampire healing, true, but it seemed that the bullet wound had erased most of his memory, even of the most basic things – and she had no way of knowing if, even when his brain had fully healed, he would have recovered those things, or if the knowledge previously imprinted on his brain would have been lost forever, leaving a sort of blank slate in its place.

 

“Maybe he won’t remember it,” she echoed softly, thinking it through for herself. “But he can relearn it…”

 

Dawn nodded slowly, her expression becoming serious as she looked at her friend with a compassion in her eyes that was both sorrowful and hopeful at the same time. Suddenly, she looked up at her sister again, a fire of determination in her sparking blue eyes.

 

“I want to try to teach him,” she stated firmly.

 

Buffy hesitated just a moment, concern for her sister coming into play as she thought of all the hard work such an endeavor would require – all the simple, basic concepts, so difficult to describe, that one would have to find a way to explain without words the words that so many took for granted – and the emotional toll such a task would take on the teacher, especially one so young, and so close to Spike.

 

But then – Dawn’s first attempt at teaching Spike had been incredibly successful…

 

“I only have two days left of school, Buffy – and all my finals are done with,” Dawn continued in her most persuasive voice. “I can do this, Buffy – I know I can!” She paused, her voice trembling slightly with conviction and intense desire as she added, “I *have* to, Buffy – he would do it for me – or you – you *know* he would…”

 

“Dawn,” Buffy quietly but firmly interrupted her sister’s logical argument, her expression serious, and the younger girl was quiet, an anxious frown on her face.

 

Buffy’s face suddenly broke into a soft smile, as she pointed out, “I never said you couldn’t.”

 

Dawn’s brilliant, beaming smile nearly took over her face, as she exulted, “*Yes*!” She turned to Spike, declaring in an excited voice which she kept as soft as she could manage, not wanting to startle him since he could not possibly understand the reasons for her agitation, “You’re gonna get better, Spike! Between all that blood you just drank, and me and Buffy taking care of you – you’re gonna be yourself again, Spike – I promise…”

 

*And if you’re not,* Buffy added to herself darkly, allowing herself to think about the possibility that Dawn could not bring herself to think about, *I’m going to track down the person who did this – no matter where they try to go – and I’m going to make them pay for doing this to you – for taking you from me…*

 

As she took the last glass from Anya’s hand and passed it to her sister, the thought crossed her mind, with a cold, grim smile.

 

*Who am I kidding? – I’m *so* gonna do that anyway…they’re not gonna get away with this, Spike…I’m going to make them pay for hurting you…*


	12. Chapter 12

Spike sat very still on the sofa beside the girl, the one who made him feel safer than he had felt in as long as he could remember, quietly waiting to find out what she and the others had in store for him. All he could do at the moment was just to sit there, clinging to her hand and pressed tight against her side – just trying to process what had just happened.

 

It seemed impossible to him.

 

Oh, it was not so very surprising that he had managed to figure out what she was trying to say to him. He might have lost his memory, might have trouble understanding words and concepts that he could not remember hearing before – but he was a very quick learner.

 

The first thing he had learned during his captivity was that he *had* to be.

 

His captor had not been nearly as patient with him as these people were being – so far.

 

If he failed to obey immediately – whether or not he understood the command – his captor would beat him mercilessly, or refuse to feed him that day, or inflict some other cruel form of torture on his body – until he somehow managed to figure out what it was that was required of him, and do it.

 

Yes – Spike had had very strong motivation to *become* a fast learner.

 

So, it did not surprise him that he had caught on quickly to what the girl had been trying to ask him.

 

What *did* surprise him was her response to his meager success.

 

He had heard the words she had spoken to him, on a few rare occasions before, when he had finally managed to obey his master’s commands – though they had usually been spoken with annoyance or disgust, however, that he had not figured it out sooner.

 

To be told that he was “good”, and in that gentle voice of pleasure and approval – well, it was a completely new experience for him – and he was not quite sure how to react to it just yet.

 

He ket getting the anxious, nagging feeling that at any moment, he was going to do something to mess it all up – make some foolish mistake, and cause them to take away this safety, this kindness that was so new and strange to him.

 

Somehow, there was a certainty in his heart that the new one – the girl who had held him and allowed him to cry in her arms – would not hurt him. He felt safe with her, secure; it was one of those things, rare though they were, that he simply *knew* automatically, though he had no idea how he knew it.

 

Just like the knowledge of the power and authority that he sensed coming from the other girl, the first to find him and take him away from his prison.

 

She had been kind to him, thus far – and there was something, deep inside him, that seemed to call out to her, craving her nearness…her attention. Yet, a part of him knew, just as deeply and instinctually, that she was dangerous – powerful, and deadly, should she find a reason to punish him.

 

He desperately wanted to avoid giving her one – yet he was convinced in is heart that sooner or later…he would.

 

He was bad.

 

His captor had made it very clear to him, many times.

 

No matter how hard he tried, how desperately he attempted to do everything right, to be good and avoid his master’s wrath – he had always managed to do something wrong, to earn more violent punishment, creating his own hell that he had lived in for as long as he could remember.

 

But tonight – so far – he had managed to avoid the inevitable pain of punishment, for longer than he ever had with his previous captor.

 

A faint light of hope began to break through in his heart, so small that it barely dared to exist…

 

Maybe…just maybe…

 

*Good,* he thought desperately, hopefully. *I can be good…must be good…*

 

***********************************

 

“Okay – um – I know nobody wants to hear this right now,” Buffy said softly, her reluctance obvious in her apologetic expression. “It’s not going to be easy, either…but – we have to check – check the rest of his body, for injuries. He was – having trouble walking on his own, earlier. If it’s anywhere near as bad as his back and his chest were, we can’t just leave it – no matter how badly we might want to.”

 

Dawn and Anya were both quiet, sobered by her words. Dawn felt Spike tense slightly beside her, probably in an instinctive response to the tense air that had fallen over the room, and she instinctively tightened her arm ever so slightly around him in a protective gesture.

 

She knew very well that her sister was right. Anyone sadistic enough to have torn into the helpless vampire so viciously on the top half of his body, certainly had not left his lower half untouched. But, after the progress they seemed to have made – just then, when Spike seemed to be beginning to feel a little safer with them – he hated to do anything to make him frightened again, as he would certainly be when they tried to take off the filthy, blood-stained jeans he now wore.

 

He had probably *been* wearing them for the past – however long he had been imprisoned.

 

Yes – they had to come off. There was no way around it.

 

“Spike?” Dawn began cautiously, turning slightly to face him more directly. “We need to – to take care of you, Spike – to make sure you’re not – hurt – well…and there’s absolutely no good way to explain this to him, is there?” she sighed, redirecting her attention to her sister. “He’s just not gonna get it…”

 

“No,” Buffy agreed. “He’s doesn’t understand that much – not yet.”

 

There was a moment’s heavy silence, before Dawn asked in a small, pleading whimper, “Do we *have* to, Buffy?” She looked between her sister and her friend with troubled eyes, quickly filling with fresh tears.

 

“Yes,” Anya drew her attention with the simple statement. “We do. Look at his legs, Dawnie – look at the – the blood on those jeans…”

 

Dawn looked down, sobered by the sight of the dark patches of dried blood that had seeped through the jeans Spike wore – wondering with a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach just what sort of wounds might have caused them, and how long those stains had been there.

 

“He’s going to need new ones,” Anya continued matter-of-factly. “We can’t just put those back on him once you’ve treated his injuries…I’ll go to the store…”

 

The slight note of hurried discomfort in her voice told Buffy that she was trying to avoid the uncomfortable situation of being there when Spike was undressed – especially after the tense conversation she had had with Buffy earlier that evening, just before she had left to get the blood.

 

Buffy nodded, appreciative of the gesture, rising from the couch and heading toward the coatrack by the door where her purse hung. “I’ll get some money…”

 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Anya dismissed the suggestion with a wave of her hand, surprising both sisters, with her uncharacteristic disregard for the expense, as she gently pushed Buffy back toward the couch and headed toward the door.

 

Anya *never* disregarded an expense.

 

“I’ll get a receipt,” the vengeance demon added just before leaving – and both the other girls visibly relaxed at the reassurance that all was still normal as far as Anya was concerned.

 

“Thanks,” Buffy called after her distractedly – already focused on the unpleasant task at hand – one she desperately wished that she could avoid. “Maybe -- *he* can do it? Take them off? Maybe he’d be – more comfortable? Feel less – threatened?” she suggested awkwardly.

 

She really did not want her little sister to have to be a part of this at all – but then, she knew that Dawn was the only one at the moment that Spike seemed to trust; and if she attempted to send the girl away, even if she *did* succeed, Spike would be too terrified to allow her to help him.

 

Not that she had any notion that she *would* actually succeed in sending Dawn away.

 

She knew full well that there was no way the girl would leave his side.

 

“Spike?” Dawn tried again, softly, her reluctance to do what she knew they had to do clear in her voice. “Trust me – okay? We’re not gonna hurt you – okay, Spike?”

 

He just looked straight ahead, as usual, swallowing in a nervous reflexive action, but making no attempt to respond to the words that he clearly did not understand.

 

“Can you – can you take off your jeans, Spike?” Dawn asked, her intensely apologetic voice barely over a whisper, tears streaking her face with the words that she desperately wished she didn’t have to say.

 

Spike’s reaction did not make it any easier.

 

He began to tremble under her arm around him, drawing back away from her against the couch, whimpering pitifully, shaking his head in a pleading gesture – making it painfully clear that he understood the words she had spoken…had probably received them as a command all too many times.

 

“We’re not gonna hurt you,” Dawn repeated tearfully, reaching out a gentle hand to touch his bandaged arm in what she hoped was a reassuring way. “Please, Spike – we just wanna help…”

 

Buffy felt sick to her stomach, as the shaking, terrified vampire rose from the couch, obedient despite his fear, and began to obey Dawn’s request. With trembling hands he unfastened the jeans, which hung loosely on his skeletal frame, and allowed them to drop to the floor, kicking them off and a couple of feet away from him.

 

And then – he dropped to his knees on the floor, between the couch and the coffee table, his head bowed low, shaking uncontrollably as he awaited what he had obviously assumed was to be more suffering.

 

Buffy knew that she should say something – do something, to reassure him and calm his fears – but for a long moment, all she could do was stare in horror at the battered mess that had been made of Spike’s legs.

 

No wonder he had had trouble walking on his own.

 

His pitifully thin legs were black and blue, covered back and front with red, angry welts and dark bruises, from his feet all the way to his narrow, trembling hips. Some of the wounds were crusted with dried blood – others that were less healed oozing slightly, probably due to the rather large amount of blood he had just ingested, after so long on starvation rations.

 

It was quite obvious to Buffy that the part of Spike’s body usually covered by his jeans had born the brunt of most of the beatings he had received -- and judging by the minimal damage to the jeans themselves, and his response to Dawn’s words, he had most likely been made to remove them for most of those beatings.

 

And what was worse – his captor had clearly not restricted his brutal blows to Spike’s legs.

 

As the shock of the sight gradually wore off, Buffy became aware of a soft sobbing sound that took her by surprise – until she looked to the couch, and saw her little sister, crying quietly, shaking her head in a desperate attempt to deny what she had seen, the heartless brutality that had been done to her friend, when he was most helpless to defend himself against it.

 

With a moment of sharp, almost painful clarity, Buffy realized that this was too much for Dawn, as she had feared – and the job of calming the terrified, trembling vampire on the floor was going to fall to her this time.

 

Moving slowly toward him, crouching down on the floor in front of him as she neared him, Buffy spoke in a soft, carefully calm voice with just a slight quaver in it. “Spike – Sweetie – you don’t have to do that…”

 

As he sensed her coming closer to him, he flinched slightly, leaning backward a bit in an unconscious desire for distance.

 

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, reaching out to gently take his hand. “It’s all right – I’m not gonna hurt you, Spike…come on…get up…”

 

She took his other hand as well, and cautiously rose to her feet, pulling him gently with her. Obediently he rose from his subservient position on the floor – and Buffy did not miss his wince of pain as he straightened his battered knees, more severely bruised than the rest of his legs, and sat down on the sofa as she directed him.

 

Buffy found her thoughts darkening again as she thought of what she would like to do to the person who had forced him to spend enough time on his knees on the cold stone of the cave where she had found him, to have caused so much damage to them.

 

Spike was shaking violently beside her, obviously having no idea what to expect from her, as she continued softly talking to him, reassuring him with her tone, rather than her words, as she gently put her arms around him, running her hand cautiously up and down his bandaged back in a soothing gesture. He flinched slightly at first – but then went still under her tentative embrace, though his back was still rigid with fear.

 

“Shhh,” she whispered as she felt his shaking start to subside a bit at last. “That’s it…it’s okay, Spike…it’s all right…not gonna hurt you…” Buffy felt tears streaming down her face, falling onto his shoulder, as she held him, whispering near his ear, “I know you’re scared – I know you have to be so confused right now – and you have no reason to trust me at all – but I promise you, Spike, I’m *never* gonna hurt you again…please…please let me help you, Spike…”

 

She felt him jump slightly, as if startled, and she reluctantly released her hold on him, allowing him to pull back away from her slowly. She frowned, puzzled by his intent gaze, focused forward and downward, seeing nothing, as he raised a hand to his shoulder, bringing his fingertips away wet with her tears.

 

When he cautiously reached out a hand in the general direction of her face – Buffy understood. A hard lump forming in her throat, as her eyes welled with new tears, she gently took his hand and guided it to her dampened cheek, pressing it gently against her warm skin.

 

And then – it happened.

 

The vampire before her, crushed to the point that he bore little resemblance to the one she had known, tilted his head to the side in a speculative way, those piercing blue eyes filled with concern, seeming to see right through her, though she knew he could see nothing at all – not with them.  And in that moment, for just the briefest instant, she could see a little spark – just the slightest flicker – of the old Spike, the one she had known, in his expression.

 

It was enough to draw out the sob she had been holding back, wrenching it from her throat as she bowed her head, crying softly as the vampire instinctively ran his hand down her cheek in a comforting gesture – just as he had done in the cave, when he had realized that she was hurting.

 

*My Spike,* she thought tenderly, a wave of regret rolling over her. *Always thinking of me – no matter how bad you’re hurting…oh, my Spike…*

 

Gently, she wrapped her arms around him again, pulling him to her – and he tensed for a moment…but then relaxed within her embrace, lowering his head to her shoulder. And after a moment, Buffy felt a cool moisture soaking through the shoulder of her blouse, felt the heaving of his shoulders as he allowed his own tears to flow again.

 

She just held onto him, crying, and allowing him to cry, for what felt like moments – but she knew that it was actually longer. When his tears seemed to ebb, Buffy cautiously raised her head, still holding him close to her, to look at her sister, speaking softly as she did.

 

“Dawnie – this is too much for you, it’s okay, Sweetie – I think I’ve got…”

 

Her voice trailed off as she looked up, to see that the couch was empty except for herself and Spike – her little sister had already fled the scene.

 

She hesitated just a moment, concern for Dawn warring with her need to care for Spike – and then decided.

 

A bit of time alone might be just what Dawn needed at the moment.

 

And as for Spike – what *he* needed at the moment – was her.


	13. Chapter 13

Spike really tried to hold it back – tried so hard not to give in to the wave of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him – the tears that painful experience had taught him could only result in more pain and punishment.

 

But then – his rescuer, this powerful woman now holding him in her arms, seemed to have no intentions of hurting him.

 

When the other girl had told him to take off his clothes, it had been all he could do to fight off the panic enough to make himself obey – because no matter what, he knew that he had to obey – or things would only get worse for him. Yes, they were being kind to him *now*, but he was certain that it could not last if he dared to defy them.

 

So, with a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, he had dropped his jeans to the floor – and dropped to his knees before them, waiting for his punishment, and wondering desperately what he had done wrong this time to deserve it.

 

*Always deserve it,* he reminded himself miserably. *Bad – always bad…*

 

And then – she had thrown his world into confusion again, gently urging him up off of his knees, and taking him into her arms, her soft warmth surrounding him, holding him close to her and soothing him gently – making him want to believe, more than anything, that she really would not harm him.

 

But – she had made him take off his clothes…surely that meant…that *always* meant pain…

 

The warm moisture he had felt suddenly dropping against his skin took him by surprise, and he drew back from her gentle embrace – immediately sure that she would hurt him for his resistance.

 

But she did not.

 

He could smell the salty tang of the moisture on her fingertips – recognized it. He had shed enough tears of his own over the past few months to know the scent of someone else’s sorrow. They only thing he could not figure out was – why. He could smell no blood but his own; she was not hurt, not that he could tell.

 

He had done everything she had told him to do – so – why was she crying?

 

When she pressed his outstretched, seeking hand gently against her damp cheek, allowing him to feel for himself what he already knew – Spike felt a strangely familiar sensation run through him – a ghost of an old emotion…and suddenly, all he wanted was just to be able to stop her tears, to make her not be sad – not cry.

 

His touch seemed rather to make her tears come faster, and she pulled him into her arms again. Spike was terribly confused, uncertain, not sure what he should do; but as she held him close to her, gently caressing his back in a comforting way, speaking to him softly in a tender, reassuring tone…

 

It suddenly became clear in his mind – with a sense of disbelieving wonder.

 

Was it possible?

 

Her tears – were for *him*.

 

A sense of awe and gratitude came over him, and he found himself leaning into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder and desperately accepting the comfort she was offering – comfort he knew that he did not deserve…but he could not resist it. It had been so long since he had been treated with any kindness at all – longer than he could remember – and he craved the affection, the warmth of her touch, more than anything – more than blood.

 

And as she held him close to her, one fact came through to Spike with sharp, blinding clarity.

 

He would do whatever it took to please her – whatever he had to do to hold onto this sweet tenderness she was offering to him.

 

He knew that he did not deserve it – but he never wanted to let it go.

 

************************************

 

“Okay, Sweetheart,” Buffy sniffed back the last of her tears, reluctantly disentangling herself from the vampire’s desperate, clinging arms. “Let’s go ahead and do this – while I still can, okay?”

 

Spike reluctantly drew back, though he was still leaning slightly toward her, as if he still wanted to be in her arms.

 

Despite the emotional pain and confusion of the whole situation, Buffy felt a bittersweet warmth steal through her at the realization.

 

“It’s okay,” she reassured him, reaching out a hand to gently touch his cheek. “It’s okay, Spike – I’m not going anywhere.”

 

He flinched automatically as her hand touched his face – and then leaned into the touch, a soft, yearning sound like a sob in his throat – a sound that tore at her heart.

 

“You must be so exhausted, Sweetie – let’s get you taken care of…so we can all get some rest, okay?” she sighed wearily, as she took him gently by the arms and pushed him slowly backward, guiding him to lie back down on the couch. “It’s okay – lie down, Spike – I’m not going to hurt you, I promise…”

 

Hesitantly, the wounded vampire obeyed, pulling his trembling legs up onto the couch and lying back. He did not seem anywhere near as panicked by the request as he had been the first time she had made it – though his entire body was taut with tension, and he reached up with a shaking hand, seeking the reassurance of contact with her.

 

Buffy’s eyes welled with tears as she knelt beside the couch, taking his hand and guiding it to rest on her shoulder. “I’m right here, Spike,” she whispered comfortingly. “It’s okay. I’m going to take care of your – your legs – make you feel better – but I’m gonna be right here beside you. You can – you can touch me, Spike, the whole time – so you know. I’m not gonna leave you.”

 

Buffy knew that he could not have understood much of what she had said, but he seemed to get the general idea. His cool hand rested weakly on her shoulder, as he made a visible effort to relax.

 

She carefully gathered her supplied on the floor in front of her, without dislodging his gentle grip on her shoulder, then picked up the package of antiseptic wipes and set to work on his battered legs.

 

At the first touch to his raw, bleeding flesh, Spike flinched, letting out a soft cry of pain – and Buffy reached a hand up to cover his on her shoulder, murmuring soft words of sympathy and understanding before she went back to work on the rest of his wounds, taking her time, trying very hard not to hurt him any more than she had to.

 

The worst of it was getting the wounds cleaned – especially the more sensitive ones between his legs – but Spike at least seemed to have some understanding of the fact that she was not trying to hurt him, because he did his best not to cry out, and held tightly to her shoulder, his weak hand occasionally tightening, trembling with the pain of her work, though he bravely kept silent.

 

As Buffy soothed the sting of the antiseptic with cool healing ointment, and wrapped the wounds carefully with soft white bandages, she eventually felt Spike’s grip on her shoulder gradually relax, and the trembling of his pain-wracked limbs slowly subside with relief. His hand finally slipped from her shoulder entirely – and a moment later, Buffy froze, as she felt the soft caress of his fingers moving lightly through the ends of her hair.

 

When she stopped moving, Spike immediately withdrew his hand, and she could see him tense up slightly again, visibly drawing away from her – obviously afraid that he had done something wrong, angered her with his surprisingly intimate touch.

 

Nothing could have been farther from the truth.

 

There *was* anger building up in the Slayer’s heart – but it was most definitely not directed at Spike. Of course, she was furious with whoever had done this to him, and more determined than ever to track them down and make them pay for causing him so much suffering, for leaving him so broken and fragile that he hardly dared a simple touch without expecting to be punished for it.

 

But she was also angry at herself – for having done the exact same thing to him, not so very long ago. She could remember countless nights in her crypt, when she had allowed him to do all kinds of things to her body, touching her in ways that no one else could, to bring her to heights of pleasure and help her forget her pain.

 

But afterwards – in the quiet moments while she caught her breath, he would always reach out to her in tenderness and affection – a slow caress along the bare skin of her arm, graceful fingers playing idly through her hair – and without fail, she would abruptly cut him off. In those instances, Spike had been lucky if she had limited her sharp rebuke to words, and not struck out at him in violence.

 

She was ashamed to admit – there were times when she had.

 

*Why did he even keep trying?* she wondered, her throat closing up with the ache in her chest at the memory of that terrible time in her life. *After the first dozen times I hit him, or cut him down, just for trying to treat me like something more than the cheap whore I tried to make him see me as – why didn’t he just give up on me?*

 

She brushed fresh tears from her eyes for about the hundredth time that evening, her eyes softening on the frightened face of the trembling vampire lying on the couch, waiting for judgment for a single affectionate touch.

 

Cautiously, not wanting to startle him, she reached out a gentle hand to touch his cheek, ignoring his flinch and lightly running the backs of her fingers down his cheek, as he hesitantly turned his face back toward her, sightless yet stunning blue eyes wide with the desperation to understand her motives, the meaning behind this simplest of actions.

 

He was so badly damaged, reduced to the mental understanding of a very young child – and a *blind* child at that. Buffy could not help the sinking feeling of uncertainty in her heart, as she wondered just how much recovery would be possible for Spike – whether or not he would ever regain all that he had lost.

 

And in the next moment, she realized with unshakable certainty…

 

It didn’t matter.

 

“I won’t give up on you, Spike,” she whispered softly, allowing her tears to fall as he pressed his bruised cheek into her hand, now cupped against his face. “I won’t. You deserve nothing less than that from me…and I don’t care if you *never* get better – I’m not gonna leave you, or give up on you – ever…”

 

As she spoke, she took his hand in her own free one, and firmly, deliberately, drew it back to her soft, blonde hair, playing through it for a moment before closing his fingers around the ends gently.

 

“It’s okay,” she assured him. “You can touch me, Spike…I’m not gonna hurt you for touching me…I’m not gonna punish you for – for reaching out to me…” Her voice broke over the words, as she lowered her head, remorse filling her heart for having done just exactly that to Spike a few months earlier.

 

She hoped she could make him understand what she was trying to say – and apparently at least the general concept of her gesture got through, because when she removed her own hand, leaving his in her hair, he slowly, tentatively, ran his fingers down through her hair, his cracked, bruised lips turning just slightly up at one corner, a light beginning in his blind eyes that was all too familiar to the Slayer’s memory.

 

“That’s it,” she whispered, taking her hand from his face and closing it gently around his free hand as she used her other hand to gather up the equipment she had used to treat his wounds, and place the items one by one on the coffee table. She had done all she could for him for the moment, treating every wound she had found on his body.

 

The head wound, she had not yet touched. From the look of it, it appeared to have healed up on the outside, scar tissue on either side of his head revealing the trajectory of the bullet that had passed through his mind, wreaking such havoc on its way. It bothered her that it still seemed to be sensitive to the touch, but she really did not know what else she could do about that particular wound just now.

 

*I *really* need Giles,* she thought with a sigh.

 

Just as she was finishing up, she heard the front door open again, and turned quickly toward it, relieved to see that it was just Anya again. The vengeance demon had a blue plastic Wal-Mart bag in her hand, which she set down on the table next to the first aid supplies.

 

“Those should be the right size,” she remarked, looking over Buffy’s work appraisingly, nodding slightly in satisfaction. “Much better,” she stated. “He should be able to start healing up now…”

 

Buffy glanced down to take in the thin frame of the vampire, covered nearly head to toe in bandages. He was still naked, but it did not appear so, due to the huge amount of white cloth bandages that covered every part of his body.

 

“Let’s save those,” she decided quietly. “They’ll be difficult to get on and off for a while, until some of the wounds on his legs and – until they heal up,” she amended at the last moment, looking down uncomfortably, swallowing back a fresh feeling of rage at Spike’s attacker, before meeting Anya’s eyes bravely again. “I’ll be changing the bandages and stuff quite a bit – so let’s just throw out the old ones, and put those away.”

 

“Okay,” Anya nodded, accepting the practicality of that plan. After a moment, she asked, “Where’s ‘away’?”

 

Buffy frowned, biting her lower lip, her hand still gently caressing Spike’s, his hand still running through her hair as she considered the dilemma of where the vampire would be sleeping.

 

“I wouldn’t recommend leaving him alone,” Anya pointed out. “He might wake up in the middle of the night and be pretty confused. We still don’t have much idea of what’s going on in that head of his beyond the basic instincts like fear and hunger. Who knows what he might do if he woke up all by himself?”

 

Buffy nodded slowly, acknowledging the accuracy of Anya’s words. There was no way that Spike could be left alone.

 

“I’ll give him my bed,” she decided finally. “I’ll make a bed on the floor upstairs and sleep beside him. That way if he wakes up, he won’t be alone.”

 

Anya nodded slowly, a slight frown betraying the fact that there was something she wanted to say, but was not saying – a rare condition for Anya, indeed.

 

It did not last long.

 

“Why don’t you just…”

 

“Because that’s not a good idea right now, Anya,” Buffy cut her off before she could even finish the statement. “I could move in my sleep and hurt him…and besides, I don’t want to cause any – confusion, right now…”

 

A soft little huff of disbelief drew her eyes to Anya’s incredulous face, as the vengeance demon replied, “Please! Like a little bit more’s gonna make a difference at this point! And besides…” Her voice softened, her expression becoming more serious as she added, “…he’s been kept as a prisoner for who knows how long…doesn’t seem to remember anything else…I would think that a little *positive* human contact could be just the thing for him.”

 

Buffy looked down again, feeling her cheeks flush with the discomfort of the situation.

 

Anya’s eyes widened with alarm, as she misinterpreted the Slayer’s reaction. “He’s not – I mean – they didn’t…”

 

“No,” Buffy quickly assured her, shaking her head emphatically. “No, there was no – it didn’t look like – that – happened.”

 

“Well, that’s a small mercy,” Anya remarked softly, looking down again at the blonde vampire on the bed, whose hand in Buffy’s hair was gradually stilling, as he succumbed to his utter exhaustion. “One less thing he’ll have to deal with. Good thing.”

 

“Yeah,” Buffy replied, a strange coldness coming into her voice, as she looked up at Anya with an almost frightening, humorless smile. “Because whoever did this is going to pay for *everything* they did to him – and that’s *really* something I’d rather not do.”

 

For possibly the first time since her human existence – the vengeance demon was shocked to silence.

 

Buffy shook her head slightly, shaking herself out of her vengeful thoughts – sighing when she saw the stunned expression on Anya’s face. Turning back to Spike, she gently lifted his still arm from behind her and laid it on the couch at his side.

 

The only pang of regret she had at the moment had nothing to do with her words to Anya, and everything to do with having to disturb his rest when he had only just managed to fall asleep.

 

“Come on,” she sighed softly, as she rose to her feet. “Help me get him upstairs.”


	14. Chapter 14

Spike awoke with a jolt as the voice of his rescuer, his golden angel of mercy, cut through the muddled, dark nightmare that had just started to invade his sleep. A momentary panic seized him, as for a few brief moments, he was unable to distinguish between the dark terror of his dream, and the constant darkness that was his reality.

 

The only difference was – the voice.

 

The voice that had haunted his nightmares – and until tonight, his reality as well – was low, menacing, full of hatred and cruel intent.

 

The voice that woke him from the nightmare was soft, clear, and full of a sweet compassion, though he could not understand the words she spoke to him.

 

“Shhh, it’s all right…let’s get up…we’re gonna go to bed, okay?”

 

The only part his mind caught onto was “get up”; those two words he recognized easily, having received that command countless times during his time as a prisoner – usually after having been knocked to the ground by his captor to begin with.

 

Quickly he tried to sit up, anxious to obey her immediately, to do whatever she wanted him to do – to please her – but the thick layer of bandages that covered most of his body made it awkward and more than a little difficult to do so. He struggled to rise, but found himself falling back down onto the couch; so he tried again, beginning to feel that familiar sense of panic creeping up on him again.

 

He had already taken far too much time to obey.

 

Any second now…

 

“Hey – hey…it’s okay…settle down…”

 

Her voice was soft, calming, as she put her arm behind his shoulders and gently helped him to sit up. He sat there for a moment, unnecessary breaths coming hard and fast as he struggled against the deeply ingrained fears that threatened to consume him.

 

“Let me help you, Spike – it’s all right…”

 

He had no idea what she had said, but her voice was so kind, so sympathetic, that he found fresh tears springing to his eyes. He blinked them back desperately, as she placed a firm but soft hand beneath his elbow behind his back, and stood up, carefully bringing him up with her.

 

His captor had never helped him – not once.

 

It did not matter how badly he was hurt, how weakened he was from hunger and abuse – if he was told to get up, there was no option but to *get up*…and as quickly as possible. If he found, as he often did, that he simply could not do it, he would get nothing but another beating, more punishment – which only made it more difficult for him to obey when the command was put to him again.

 

This careful attention, this concern for his comfort – well, it was completely new to Spike, and he was not quite sure how to respond to it…beyond the grateful tears that spilled down his cheeks, as he instinctively bowed his head to her shoulder beside him, choking back a sob.

 

*Whatever she wants,* he vowed in his mind. *Whatever she tells me to do – anything to please her…anything…*

 

**********************************

 

The ache in Buffy’s heart mirrored Spike’s, as the helpless, devastated vampire rested his head on her shoulder, softly weeping. She had no idea what exactly had brought on this most recent emotional release – though she knew that he certainly had enough to cry about for months, if he felt like it – and she found herself wondering with alarm if he was in that much pain…if it was the sudden movement that had brought on his tears.

 

“Spike? Are you hurting, Sweetie?” she asked in a tearful whisper, resting her hand against his cheek as she turned her head toward him. “What can I – I mean…” Her voice trailed off, as she remembered again that there was no way for him to understand what she was trying to ask him – or to answer her, if he did.

 

“Come on,” Anya urged her with a rare gentleness in her voice, as she put her arm around Spike on the other side, taking some of his slight weight from Buffy’s shoulders. “Let’s get him upstairs.”

 

Between the two of them, they managed to get Spike up the stairs and into Buffy’s bedroom, where Buffy turned to face the sobbing vampire, wrapping her arms around him and holding him close to her, attempting to soothe him, as Anya cleared the display pillows from the bed and pulled the blankets back.

 

When the bed was ready, Buffy gently maneuvered Spike backward, guiding him to sit down, and then to lie back, on the bed.

 

The only problem was – he still had not let go of her.

 

“Spike – Sweetie – let go,” she whispered, her voice hushed and husky with emotion, as she tried to disentangle herself and stand up straight.

 

The vampire on the bed would have none of it.

 

She saw him begin to shake with fear as she tried to pull away, as a soft, pleading whimper began from his lips once more. Spike’s weakened grip was still surprisingly strong as his hands fisted in her shirt behind her – and inadvertently, in her long blonde hair as well.

 

“Ow!” she cried out before she could stop herself. “Spike, don’t! Let go!”

 

Instantly, Spike released her completely, shying away from her unintentionally sharp tone, his head turned away from her as his heart-breakingly fragile body visibly closed in on itself in his desperate desire to escape.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry – so sorry, Sweetie,” she whispered immediately, her eyes wide and stricken with shame and regret at her accidental thoughtlessness. “Hey – it’s all right, Spike, I’m not mad…it’s okay…”

 

“I’ll just – leave this one to you,” Anya remarked softly from beside the bed, causing Buffy to look up at her in surprise. “I think you can take it from here. I’ll let myself out, and lock the door.”

 

The sad, knowing little smile on her face told Buffy that Anya knew she had been right in her assessment of what the best sleeping arrangements would be – and the Slayer immediately knew the best way to calm the frightened vampire.

 

Quickly, she removed her shoes, but left the rest of her clothing on for the time being. She ruefully remembered that she had desperately wanted a shower, after the fight with the mysterious goo demons in the cemetery, and taking care of Spike. She just knew she was covered in slime, blood, and sweat.

 

*Oh well,* she thought with weary resignation. *I’m gonna need to change those sheets in the morning anyway.*

 

Slowly, careful not to jostle his countless injuries, Buffy climbed into the bed beside Spike, pulling the covers over them both and settling in beside the trembling, apprehensive vampire.

 

“Shhh,” she whispered again, soothing him with her voice and her touch, as she raised a hand in a feather light, calming caress across his brow.

 

He flinched at first, clearly expecting a blow – but she did nothing more than to repeat the gesture, again and again, whispering to him as she gently petted him, trying to make him understand that no matter what happened, she was not going to hurt him.

 

After a minute or two, he began to calm down – but after accidentally hurting her, he made no attempt to draw closer to her, as he had before. He just lay there, his head turned back toward her the only physical sign of his desire for closeness with her, his body taut with anxiety and uncertainty.

 

Buffy knew that though he could not bring himself to close the gap between them – he desperately needed for it to be closed. Carefully, doing her best not to startle him, she slid across the mattress nearer to him, laying her arm gently across his chest and tugging him gently toward her.

 

Gratefully, Spike immediately nestled in closer to her, resting his head on her shoulder again, as the last of his quiet tears faded away into soft snuffling sounds – but he did not dare to touch her with his hands.

 

Buffy wanted him to know that it was okay – she was not angry with him for the slight, accidental pain he had caused her -- but she was afraid any attempt to make him understand that might just confuse him, and she did not want to push him any further – not tonight.

 

She had all the time in the world to help him understand how much she cared for him.

 

She just lay there with him, cradling him close to her with her arms around him, soothing him with her presence until he fell asleep again, safe at last in the protective embrace of the one who should have been his enemy.

 

***********************************

 

It took Buffy a few hazy moments to figure out why her arm was asleep, when she woke up in the late hours of the next morning. She finally managed to open her sleep-weighted eyes, and glance around her shadowed room, only barely lit by the few refracted rays of light that filtered through the drawn curtains.

 

Her eyes widened in momentary surprise, as she looked to her side and saw the reason for the tingling pins and needles in her right arm – the dead weight of the sleeping vampire whose head was resting on her shoulder…and cutting off the circulation to the rest of her arm. Her left arm was still resting lightly across his torso, holding him close to her as he slept.

 

She simply stared at him for a long time, wondering at the peaceful beauty of him, at rest – not shaking and cringing and wracked with the confusion and pain of the night before. It was a relief to see him actually getting some rest, not afraid and uncertain as to what was going to happen next in his unlife that had been wrested from his control and thrust into the hands of others…even if this time, the “others” wanted to help and protect him, rather than to abuse him.

 

What she had no way of knowing was that this was the first night since he had regained the ability to dream that had not been filled with nightmares to rival the torment of his waking hours.

 

She took her time, now, to study the face that she had thought was lost to her, for all those months, in the dim, hazy light that shrouded her room. She frowned as she took in the cruel changes, as her arm across him rose to tenderly trace along the full, flawless lips, now cracked and bruised by someone’s fist – that angelic face over flawless cheekbones, beaten and bloodied by abuse…

 

*I’ll kill them, Spike,* she promised silently, as she removed her hand and laid her arm around him again protectively. *I’ll find the people who did this to you – and I’ll make them pay for it. I won’t let them get away with this. I promise.*

 

She looked down, frowning to see that some of the bandages from the night before were stained through with blood. He had needed the blood they had given him desperately – and would need plenty more – but getting so much blood in him after going so long without had resulted in starting some of the wounds flowing much more than they had been before.

 

*He’ll need a shower…it was too much for him last night…but he’ll need to be thoroughly cleaned up…who knows…it might help him…*

 

Her thoughts cut off abruptly, her breath stolen away in an instant, as his thick, dark lashes fluttered twice…before his eyelids opened wide, revealing two deep pools of crystal blue that stunned her, and smote her heart with an exquisite pain at the sheer beauty of that familiar gaze.

 

“Hey,” she whispered, her voice raspy with sleep – but she made herself speak, now that she knew he was awake, wanting to do her best to ground him, to remind him where he was before he had the chance to panic. “Good morning, Spike…how you doing, Sweetie?”

 

She did not expect a response, just wanted to calm him with her voice.

 

His clear blue eyes blinked once, wide open and staring, and her heart ached with loss.

 

*Oh, Spike, I wish you could see me,* she thought desperately, forcing her own tears back as she reached a gentle hand toward his face to offer a reassuring caress.

 

And Spike flinched slightly, his eyes darting toward the movement of her hand with instinctive fear.

 

Buffy froze, her eyes widening in wondering disbelief.

 

*But – it’s only been one night…*

 

Was it possible?

 

“It’s all right,” she reassured him in a whisper, moving her hand slowly forward again. “I’m not gonna hurt you, Spike…not gonna hurt you…”

 

Once again, his sapphire gaze followed the movement warily, but he did not pull away from her as she laid her hand on his cheek in a soothing caress. His eyes fluttered wonderingly back to her face, a slight frown creasing his brow as he focused on her lips intently for a long moment.

 

Despite his clear anxiety and confusion over this new development, Buffy could not help the rush of warmth and hope that flooded her at the implications of a few simple eye movements. They did not only show a tremendous progress in and of themselves, but they gave her hope that with enough nourishment and care, Spike might eventually regain so much more of what he had lost.

 

Buffy felt a flood of joy flow through her when she saw his eyes widen slightly, trailing uncertainly back and forth between her mouth and her eyes – and a light of excited understanding shone forth in his gaze, as he made the connection between the sounds reaching his ears, and the concurrent movements of her lips.

 

Buffy laughed quietly, tears of relief flooding her eyes at the same time.

 

“You can see me!” she exulted softly, running the backs of her fingers down his cheek affectionately. “Oh, Spike, you can see! You’re gonna be all right, Spike! I know it – I’m gonna make sure, Spike, I’m gonna take care of you, and help you – and you’re gonna be all right!”


	15. Chapter 15

The new world of color and light, shape and form, that met Spike’s wide eyes upon waking took him completely by surprise – he had not seen anything in as long as he could remember – and yet, it was not as alarming as one might have thought that it would be.

 

It felt like a distant, barely remembered dream – like something he had experienced a very long time ago – foreign and not quite familiar – and yet, somehow…*right*. He sensed on an instinctual level that this new world of light was as it was supposed to be; and the darkness he had spent so long lost in was something that had been forced upon him – unnatural, and incomplete.

 

Still, it was next to impossible at first for Spike to make any sense of the blurred, vague images before his eyes – having no point of reference in his memory with which to compare them. They were nothing more than random splotches of color, without meaning to his new sight.

 

Until one of those splotches moved suddenly toward his face, in what habit told him had to be a threat.

 

After all – anytime anyone moved to touch him, it was a threat – right?

 

He flinched – but then, her gentle, soothing voice steadied him…grounded him…drew him back, flooding his mind with the sweet memories of the night before, and how she had cared for him, comforted him, allowed him the tears and the sorrow that he had always been punished for before…how she had held him gently as he had fallen asleep in her arms…

 

And when the soft, indistinct image reached his face – and he felt the warm tenderness of her reassuring touch – something clicked in his mind. He glanced slowly back and forth between the hand at his cheek, and the movement he could just barely make out about a foot in front of his face.

 

The second connection came a couple of moments later, when he realized that the motion in front of his face coincided exactly with the sound of her musical voice – and he realized what the soft blurring of colors, gold and pink and emerald green (though he could not have named them) really was.

 

*Her*.

 

As the realization slowly sank in, and his still-fragile mind – now seeming so much more clear, after the large meal he had had the night before – managed to put all the pieces together, he found himself mesmerized by the smooth, rhythmic motions of her lips, the soft vibrations of her breath as she spoke softly to him.

 

Another shape entered his line of vision, edging cautiously toward those moving lips, trembling slightly, uncertain – and it took him a moment to realize that it was his own hand, tentatively edging toward her face. The moment he *did* realize it, he jerked his hand back with sudden panic, unable to believe that he had almost been so bold as to touch her so freely.

 

Whenever he had even accidentally managed to touch his captor, he had been struck down ruthlessly, punished and reminded in scathing tones of disgust and anger just how worthless and vile and low he was – certainly not deserving to put his hand on a human being – not ever.

 

He drew back slightly, averting his eyes, trembling – and froze, when he felt the soft warmth of her hand closing gently around his, her gentle words never ceasing as she slowly raised his hand in hers, bringing it back into his line of sight.

 

Spike stared at their joined hands, uncomprehending at first, as she held them there firmly, her other hand moving to gently caress his cheek again in a reassuring manner. Then, she slowly raised his hand in hers, bringing it up to the lips he had longed to touch, and pressing it lightly but deliberately against them.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered softly – and although he could not have defined the words, he was beginning to understand what they meant.

 

Security – safety – mercy – those two simple words she spoke so frequently seemed to mean that in a situation where before, he could have expected only pain – there would be none. She would not hurt him.

 

He desperately hoped that he had not misunderstood.

 

“It’s okay, Spike…you can touch me…it’s okay,” she continued, pressing his fingers against his lips gently once more, before lowering her own hand – leaving his there.

 

He stared at her, wide-eyed with wonder as he felt the gentle movement of her silken lips under his trembling fingertips – and a sort of awe stole over him, at what to him seemed a tremendous privilege…just to be allowed to touch, to *feel* her so closely.

 

And the adoration in the heart of the broken, fragile vampire grew just a bit deeper, more intense, for the golden beauty who had freed him, and captured him, all at the same time.

 

***********************************

 

Buffy stared across the bed at the beautiful creature lying beside her, her breath literally stolen away by those wide, piercing blue eyes, drinking her in as if for the very first time…

 

*It *is* the first time,* she reminded herself, blinking back tears – though she could not have said if sorrow or joy had provoked them. *For him – it’s like he’s never seen me before…faces…colors…the most basic things, he’s going to have to learn – all over again…*

 

Not for the first time since finding him in that dark cave, Buffy felt an overwhelming sense of responsibility, of obligation, roll over her, with the reminder of just how much Spike was going to need from her.

 

She was more than willing to provide it.

 

“Come on, Sweetie,” she whispered, reaching to take his shaking hand from her lips, holding it in hers again as she sat up slowly – his indescribably blue gaze following her every movement, though he did not move himself. “Can you sit up a little?”

 

She did not want to rush him, or to cause him any pain – but if he could already see again, after just one night, surely the rest of his injuries had improved as well? It made her wonder just how long he had gone without nourishment, and how long he had been down in that cave in the first place.

 

Her heart went out to the injured vampire as he struggled to obey her, letting out a little whimper of pain as the effort tugged at the bandages that covered his body.

 

“Okay, wait,” she hurriedly broke in, reaching over to help him sit up, silently cursing her own thoughtlessness. “Bad idea, Buffy – obviously not so much improvement yet, huh, Sweetie? I’m sorry,” she talked to him in a casual, light tone as she carefully helped him to shift to a sitting position, bracing his back with a couple of soft pillows behind him. “Still need a little more blood before you’re gonna be doing much on your own, right? Stupid Slayer…if you were yourself right now – well, I mean, I know you’re *yourself*, but if you could remember – you’d be calling me a ‘daft bint’ about now, and cussing me out in British, wouldn’t you? I almost – wish you would…”

 

Her voice trailed off as she swallowed back a hard lump that had arisen in her throat, swiping quickly at the tears that had formed in her eyes.

 

“Shut up, Buffy,” she muttered quietly, lowering her gaze to the mattress between them for a moment, before looking back up at him to gauge his reaction to her rather pointless monologue – pointless, as he certainly could not understand much of it.

 

Spike was watching her closely, a slight frown of confusion furrowing his brow, his head tilted just slightly to the side as he obviously tried to puzzle out what it was she was trying to say to him – what she was expecting of him in response.

 

“It’s okay,” she repeated gently. “Don’t worry about it…I’m just rambling…and I guess anything I say right now is gonna be rambling to you, isn’t it? Since you don’t understand me – and – here I go again,” she sighed, looking down between them again before giving him a reassuring smile, and moving to rise from the bed.

 

“I’m gonna get you some blood,” she explained as she turned her back to him to get up – completely missing the look of panic that came over his face when he saw that she seemed to be leaving. “You hungry?”

 

Before she could turn to catch his response, if there was one – the door to her bedroom flew open, so hard that it banged against the wall with a violent crash, as Dawn came rushing into the room.

 

The younger girl’s hair was disheveled and her pajamas were rumpled from sleep, but her eyes were wide and alert with fear as she cried out in a trembling voice, “Buffy, he’s gone! Spike’s…” Her voice trailed off as she caught sight of the vampire sitting up in the bed, and she added softly, surprise in her voice, and relief at finding him safe and sound, “…right…here.”

 

But the damage was already done.

 

At her abrupt entrance, Spike had scrambled backward away from her, startled into a further panic – and, not realizing how near he was to the edge of the bed, tumbled over the edge onto the floor. Confused and disoriented by the fall, he let out a pained whimper as his injuries were jarred by the impact, and crawled weakly back against the wall, his eyes shut, his thin, battered arms raised to protectively cover his head.

 

“Shoot,” Dawn muttered, self-disgust clear in her voice as she made her way around the bed toward her terrified friend, Buffy right behind her. “Spike – it’s me, it’s okay…you’re okay…”

 

“Dawn,” Buffy whispered, as her sister crouched down in front of him, holding out a cautious hand as one might do in an attempt to reassure an injured pet. “Careful, Dawnie – he – he can see you now…”

 

Just as she spoke, the blonde vampire reluctantly raised his head, in response to the familiar voice, blue eyes locking onto blue eyes, as he stared at Dawn, trying to reconcile her voice with the unfamiliar image of her.

 

“*What*?” Dawn whirled around momentarily to face her sister, before turning quickly to meet Spike’s eyes again, a new excitement in her voice as she edged nearer to him. “Spike – it’s okay – I know this is weird, but it’s me – you weren’t scared of me last night – right? I’m still okay – still not gonna hurt you…”

 

As Dawn gently spoke to him, trying to calm him, Buffy silently slipped up beside him, though she was careful never to leave his line of vision. Still, he jumped slightly as she crouched down beside him and gently put her arm around him. But then, he settled back against her, trembling, yet obviously grateful for her nearness – though his eyes never left Dawn’s face.

 

Once Buffy was seated beside him, her arms around him steadying and, if necessary, restraining the disoriented vampire, Dawn slowly closed the rest of the distance between herself and Spike, reaching out a hand to take his.

 

“See? It’s okay,” she repeated with an affectionate smile. “Just me.” She paused for a moment, winking at him as she added in a slightly teasing voice, “Told ya.”

 

Spike did not quite return the smile, his expression still a bit uncertain – but he seemed a lot calmer now than he had been only moments before, encircled by the safety of these two young women who had become his rescuers, his protectors – as once again, the sense of trust he was developing for them was strengthened by the reassurance that they would not hurt him.

 

“Well,” Dawn said softly after a moment, addressing her words to her sister, though she maintained eye contact with Spike. “This is gonna make the whole teaching thing a *lot* easier. I wasn’t looking forward to the whole ‘Miracle Worker’ routine.”

 

Buffy frowned for a moment, not sure what she was talking about – then her eyes widened in surprise as she remembered the story Dawn was referring to, and she raised one eyebrow in a look that was half skeptical, half impressed.

 

“What?” Dawn retorted, a bit defensively. “I read!”

 

********************************

 

“I need to speak to Rupert Giles, please.”

 

There was a short paused, before a clipped, just barely polite English voice replied, “And who might I tell him is calling, Miss?”

 

“Anya,” the vengeance demon replied shortly, trying to repress her mounting frustrations by vigorously dusting a few newly stocked shelves while she paced up and down through the currently closed shop, the phone pressed between her shoulder and her ear. “His business partner? Hello!”

 

“Just a moment, please, I’ll see if he’s available,” the crisp voice replied, sounding just the slightest bit offended by her tone.

 

*Let her get offended,* Anya thought to herself, sighing impatiently as she waited for Giles to come on the line. *She’s lucky I’m just throwing not subtle, impolite comments her way and not eviscerating her stuffy, probably very unattractive frail human body!*

 

“Hello?”

 

“Giles!” she exclaimed, her relief evident in her voice. “You need to come back.”

 

There was a moment’s silence on the line, before the Watcher replied in a tone of mild disbelief, “Excuse me?”

 

“Buffy needs you. You need to come back,” she repeated firmly, as if no further explanation should be necessary.

 

“What is it, Anya? Another apocalypse?” he guessed, and she could almost hear the frown in his voice, with the note of concern that he could never quite conceal when it came to his Slayer.

 

“Could be – if she doesn’t get some help. She’s in *way* over her head this time, Giles. You just – need to get back here, as soon as you can,” Anya replied, more than a little evasive.

 

It was absolutely true that Buffy needed her Watcher’s help with this situation.

 

It was almost just as true that if he knew what the situation *was*, he would not be likely to want to help.

 

“Really, Anya,” he retorted with obvious exasperation. “I need a bit more information than that before I can just take off, traipsing across continents and overseas without knowing what I’m going into. Just what exactly is…”

 

But before he could get any farther, Anya interrupted, “Overseas calls are expensive, Giles. Can’t afford to talk anymore. See you soon.”

 

And she promptly hung up, before the Watcher could press her any further on the reasons for the necessary return to the States.

 

Very satisfied with herself, Anya glanced at the calendar behind the counter, before glancing at her watch and heading for the front doors of the shop to unlock them and turn the sign over to declare the shop “open”.

 

“He’ll be here by the end of the week.”


	16. Chapter 16

“Do you think he *can* talk? Like, physically?” Dawn mused thoughtfully from where she lay across the foot of Buffy’s bed. “I mean – he probably doesn’t remember how right now…or know what the words mean – but do you think we could teach him?”

 

Buffy smiled patiently at her little sister from her seat at the head of the bed, beside a very sleepy vampire, having just consumed another three bags of blood from the stock that Anya had brought. Now he was snuggled comfortably against Buffy’s side, her arm wrapped protectively around his slight frame, his head bobbing slightly every few moments as he tried not to fall asleep.

 

“I think that if he was more awake – and really himself right now – he’d be ticked off to hear you talking about him as if he’s not here,” she remarked lightly, deliberately avoiding the question to which she had no answer.

 

Spike’s head drooped sharply, and he sat up with a little start, glancing at her with anxious eyes – before immediately calming a bit when his gaze fell on her gentle, reassuring smile.

 

“Come here,” she murmured, affection obvious in her voice as she scooted just a little away from him across the mattress, and guided his head down to rest in her lap. “Go ahead, you can sleep, Spike…”

 

The exhaustion of the ordeal he had been through was not something she expected him to get over completely with one night of undisturbed rest.

 

Wonder and uncertainty giving way to a shy sort of gratitude in his wide blue eyes, Spike obediently rested his head on her thighs, slowly relaxing as sleep overtook him again.

 

Several hours had passed since they had awakened that morning to the pleasant surprise of his restored sight – and neither Slayer nor vampire had moved from the spot yet. Buffy had called in to the Doublemeat from the phone beside the bed, claiming a “family emergency” – and with Dawn right there to hear her do it, it had been next to impossible at that point to convince the girl that the same excuse would not work to excuse her from school for the day.

 

“If Spike’s qualifies as *your* family, then he’s *my* family too!” she had insisted. “In fact – he’s more my family than he is yours. At least I hope so – because if Spike’s really like family to you, Buffy, then *ewww* to what you two were doing all last year!”

 

Buffy had given in and called the school – just to shut her little sister up.

 

And besides – though she would not have admitted it to Dawn just yet – she wasn’t quite sure that she could face the day ahead, taking care of the fragile, injured vampire in her arms, all by herself.

 

Dawn had proven her helpfulness shortly after that, going downstairs to get Spike’s blood, and Buffy had stayed with him in the bed, holding him close to her, doing all she could to reassure him that everything was okay, that he was safe here, in her home, and she and Dawn cared about him, and would not allow anyone to hurt him.

 

Dawn had joined them on the bed as soon as Spike’s blood had warmed – and none of them had left the room since. The Summers’ sisters spent the remainder of the morning just talking quietly – some to Spike, but mostly to each other, knowing that the effect was almost the same for Spike, either way. It was the calming, steady rhythms of their voices that seemed to mean the most to him right now.

 

Dawn raised up on one elbow and looked thoughtfully at the sleepy vampire for a moment, before asking her sister, “How much do you think he really understands right now?”

 

Buffy shrugged slightly, once again feeling as if the question was not one she was qualified to answer.

 

“No way of knowing, really,” she finally replied, when Dawn kept looking at her expectantly. “I mean – he knows a few words already – and he learned a few more just in a few minutes last night. I think it’s just – like – he has to start from scratch – you know? The only things he knows are things he’s been told enough times for him to finally get what they mean – *since* the gunshot.”

 

“Since way past that,” Dawn corrected, shaking her head with a frown of dismay. “Because it had to have taken a while to even recover enough to function at all.”

 

Both girls were silent, Buffy slowly nodding her acceptance of her sister’s point, as she gazed down at Spike’s head in her lap with troubled eyes, running her fingers gently through the disheveled blonde curls, but carefully avoiding the tender site of the wound that had caused so much damage.

 

“And who knows how much better he’d be doing already, if he’d been getting enough to eat all along?” Dawn’s voice darkened with anger at the thought of the person who had starved and tortured her vibrant, confident friend, eventually replacing him with the broken creature she now saw in his place.

 

“That’s over now,” Buffy murmured, her own voice sounding sleepy and relaxed, a soft smile on her lips as she looked down at Spike’s peaceful expression in sleep. “He’s with us now – and he’s gonna be fine.”

 

After a moment, Dawn asked, almost managing to mask the impatience in her voice, “So – when do you think he’s gonna wake up? I wanna start trying to teach him some things…”

 

“It might be a little while, Dawnie,” Buffy cut her off, a mild reprimand in her voice. “He’s been through – through an awful lot, Honey. He needs to rest, and more than anything, he just needs to feel like he’s safe. I think for a little while, a few days anyway – we should just let him get used to us…let him learn to trust us…”

 

“He *does* trust us!” Dawn objected, slightly indignant.

 

“Yeah – as long as we don’t make any sudden moves, and he knows where we are at all times,” Buffy countered dubiously. Then she sighed. “Not like we can blame him. All he remembers is being hurt, Dawn. It’s gonna take a little while for him to feel truly safe – even with you.”

 

Dawn nodded slowly, taking in her words. Then she frowned, the last of those words suddenly registering with her. “With *us*, Buffy,” she corrected softly. “With us.”

 

Buffy was silent for a moment, before letting out a heavy sigh. “No,” she confessed quietly. “I said what I meant, Dawn. It’ll take a while for him to trust *you*.” She paused before adding in a tone of deep resignation, “The other – for me – it’ll probably take – a lot longer…”

 

Dawn was clearly still a bit confused – but Buffy had no intention of enlightening her.

 

The truth was hard enough to accept herself.

 

It would not take long for Spike to be able to place his full trust in Dawn, judging by how quickly he had taken to her the night before. There seemed to be some sort of an instinctive knowledge in his broken mind, some trace of memory that told him that Dawn was safe – that she never had hurt him, and he could trust her not to hurt him now.

 

Buffy knew that if he had any such instinctive memories of *her* -- they would in no way inspire such absolute trust. Tears welled in her eyes, as she traced her fingertips lightly along his bruised brow.

 

*I’ll make it up to you, Spike,* she vowed silently. *I will – I promise.*

 

*************************************

 

Sunset fell over Sunnydale – signaling the end of the daylight hours, when it was safe for the oblivious, and primarily good-intentioned citizens to be out and about; and marking the hours of the night that belonged to the monsters – both otherworldly, and those of the more human variety.

 

One such monster made his way swiftly through the dark woods just outside Restfield Cemetery, watching carefully around him as he went, without slowing his pace,  as he headed toward his destination. He had spent enough time aware of the dark creatures that others did not know even existed, to know to keep an eye out for danger.

 

As he stole quietly into the dark tunnels where the Initiative had once reigned, he slowed his pace a bit, and tightened his grip on the stake he had tucked into his dark pants. In the darkness of these caves, anything could be hiding – lying in wait – though he liked to think that most of Sunnydale’s nasties would know better than to mess with him by now – if for no other reason than his close association with the Slayer.

 

Or perhaps, because of the bound,  broken vampire he was here to see – actual physical evidence of what he was capable of visiting upon any demon foolish enough to cross him.

 

It had been a tough night.

 

He could feel the tension that had been building up in him all day, intensifying, as he thought of all the frustrations of the past couple of days – the rising sense of inadequacy that he could never quite escape – and the fact that even now, with his unworthy competition out of the way, she *still* refused to choose him – to *see* him.

 

*Time to work off some of those frustrations.*

 

He smiled darkly at the thought as he quickened his pace, just as the entrance to the room where his prize was kept came into view.

 

*I’ll teach that little freak to think he can take her from me!*

 

“Oh, Spike…” he softly mocked his prisoner in a slow, lilting sing-song, still outside the door. “I’m back…” His voice hardened as he ordered sharply, “And you’d better be on your knees when I walk through this door!”

 

He enjoyed a private smirk at the thought of the chained, helpless creature, unable to obey the command, yet scrambling and struggling desperately to assume the required position, despite the bonds at his wrists that prevented it.

 

The smile faded when nothing but total silence met his order, rather than the expected clattering of the chains that usually would have been heard as the little vampire made the useless attempt to obey him. Irritation filled him at the thought that Spike might be unconscious at the moment – and his sadistic mockery wasted. Or perhaps, he thought, cheering up a bit, the vampire *was* conscious, but just to weak to respond at all to the command.

 

*I *did* forget to feed him last time – last *couple* times,* he reminded himself with a carelessly malicious grin, and a slight shrug. *Oh, well – I know how to make him jump when I say so!*

 

“Uh-oh,” he taunted in a low, ominous tone, as he stepped into the doorway. “Not quite quick…enough…” The last word died on his lips, as he froze in shock at the unexpected sight that met his eyes.

 

The chains hung loose against the wall of the cave – empty.

 

Spike was gone.

 

*********************************

 

At some point during the afternoon, Dawn had brought the small television from the spare bedroom up and plugged it in – and so it was that just before sunset that evening, the girls and Spike were all three huddled comfortably at the head of the bed, watching some melodramatic movie on Lifetime.

 

“Spike would kill us if he knew,” Dawn giggled, affectionately squeezing his shoulders from her spot on the side of him that was not currently occupied by Buffy.

 

“Yeah,” Buffy smiled wistfully, looking down at the rapt expression of interest on the vampire’s face as he stared at the moving colors on the screen – certainly too small and distant, on the dresser across the room, for him to make sense of them. Still, the screen and the voices emanating from it managed to hold his attention.

 

A low chuckle of nostalgic amusement rose in Buffy’s throat, as she shook her head slightly, and murmured, “Some things never change.” In an impulsive display of affection, before she even thought about what she was doing, she dropped a brief, tender kiss on his temple.

 

And suddenly – he didn’t seem to find the television so interesting anymore.

 

In fact – neither did Dawn.

 

Buffy began to feel uncomfortable under the startled stares of both of them – Spike’s expression wondering and unsure, as if he was not really sure what had just happened; and Dawn’s expression a mixture of disbelief – and pleased satisfaction.

 

Before anyone could say a word – the sound of the doorbell was heard downstairs.

 

*Thank God,* Buffy thought with a desperate wave of relief, as she gently disentangled herself from the vampire leaning on her and gave her sister a sheepish smile. “Gotta get the door,” she explained weakly.

 

“Uh-huh,” Dawn muttered. “You do that. Run, Buffy.”

 

She rolled her eyes, as she set about reassuring a slightly nervous Spike, who was staring after Buffy with wide, longing eyes, a slight whimper rising in his throat as he reached out a tentative hand toward the spot where she had been.

 

“It’s okay,” she assured him gently, pulling him toward her – though she knew already that she was going to be a poor substitute for what her sister was already coming to mean to the broken vampire.

 

*You’re right, Buffy,* she thought with a bittersweet smile. *Some things never change.*

 

*********************************

 

Buffy strode impatiently toward the front door, finding that despite her need to escape the situation she had accidentally just created upstairs – she already was longing to get back. Whoever it was at the door was going to have to just come back later, she decided as she reached for the handle. It couldn’t be *that* important – not in comparison to what she had to deal with at the moment.

 

She opened the door – and froze in surprise.

 

Her eyes widened, and her hand fell from the doorknob as she just stood there, silent for a long moment.

 

Finally, a hoarse whisper left her lips, confusion evident in her voice.

 

“*Angel*.”


	17. Chapter 17

Buffy stood there in the doorway for a long moment, staring at the face of her former lover, unsure how to react – what to think, or feel. And then, as the memory of their last conversation, and the way he had spoken to her in front of his crew, came back to her – she decided on a feeling.

 

Anger.

 

“What are you doing here?” she said finally, a hard edge to her voice that obviously took Angel by surprise, judging by the startled look he gave her.

 

“I – I wanted to apologize,” he replied, his voice slightly uncertain, his eyes imploring. “For – for the way I talked to you. It was – rude, and – and I just wasn’t thinking about the way it must have – must have…”

 

“Humiliated me?” she finished for him, a flat sort of smile on her lips that did not reach her eyes. “No. I’d say you weren’t.”

 

“Buffy!” he hurried to stop her before she could close the door. “Buffy, please – just hear me out, okay?” As he spoke, he quickly positioned himself in the path of the door, preventing her from shutting him out.

 

A little grimace of annoyance came over Buffy’s face as she took in his literal foot in the door, and muttered flippantly, “I knew I should have done something about that open invitation of yours.”

 

“Buffy.”

 

The hurt in Angel’s voice was so obvious that Buffy found herself meeting his eyes, reluctantly – and her heart smitten with guilt at the sight of the wounded look she saw there. She sighed heavily, looking down again as she stepped back, opening the door wider, shaking her head as she relented, “Fine. Come in. Speak your piece.”

 

Angel ducked his head slightly as he stepped through the doorway into the house, his hands in his pockets in the manner of a reprimanded little boy.

 

“I’m sorry, Buffy,” he repeated insistently, as she quietly closed the door and moved into the living room, sitting down on the edge of the couch, her arms crossed tightly over her shoulder, her eyes firmly focused on the wall, refusing to look at him.

 

“You said that,” she reminded him coolly.

 

“Look – it was just – hard, you know? Hearing you – talk about – Spike, as if – as if he was – well, I mean…after what we had – and what he did…and you just…”

 

“Angel – it’s been years since we’ve had anything – or since he’s *done* anything, for that matter,” Buffy pointed out, finally looking up at him as she cut off his awkward rambling. “You don’t know me anymore – and I think it’s probably safe to say you don’t know *him* anymore, either. It was so – so unfair for you to just go off on me like that – in front of all those people…”

 

“I know – I was wrong, and I’m sorry, Buffy – I just – want you to understand *why* I did,” Angel explained, his voice quiet and subdued. “You – you will always mean a lot to me, and – and it’s obvious that – that Spike – means something to you now. I don’t know how, or what…but I just – had a hard time dealing with that…”

 

Buffy was surprised, and a bit impressed in spite of herself – both with Angel’s perception in figuring out that there was something going on between her and Spike; and also with his honesty in admitting how he felt about it.

 

*Maybe I don’t know *him* so well anymore, either,* he admitted to herself silently, regarding him thoughtfully.

 

“It’s okay, Angel,” she relented finally with a weary sigh. The truth was, at the moment, she had much more to worry about than her issues with Angel. “It just – hurt, that’s all. I thought you – had more respect for me than that.”

 

“I do,” Angel assured her quietly. “I do, Buffy – that’s why I’m here. I – I knew I owed you an apology, and – and I couldn’t just let it go. You deserved to hear it from me in person.”

 

Buffy nodded silently, not having any response for that. After a long moment of silence, she replied simply, “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

Another awkward moment of silence passed before Buffy sighed, leaning forward and placing her head in her hands, as she muttered more to herself than to Angel, “Why does this always have to be so freakin’ hard?”

 

Angel’s vampire hearing allowed him to hear the words, and he shook his head, his sigh matching hers as he sank down on the arm of the chair across from the sofa, his head bowed as he replied softly, “I don’t know, Buffy. I guess it’s just – something we have to deal with. The whole – wanting to be together – when it’s just not possible…”

 

Buffy looked up at him, quietly incredulous – though he missed the look, his eyes still downcast – as she realized that Angel still believed that she was in love with him.

 

And in the same moment, Buffy realized for the first time, that she really and truly was not.

 

“Well,” she said finally, after another interminable silence, as she stood up and headed toward the door. “Thank you for coming, Angel – for making things right. I appreciate it – and I hate to be so brief, but – you really have no idea how much stress I’m under right now. I’m – so unbelievably busy right now, and I really need to…” Her voice trailed off, as she realized that she really did not want to inform Angel as to what it was that she had to do.

 

“Anything I can help with?” he asked casually as he made his way toward the door, not quite meeting her eyes.

 

“No,” she sighed. “I don’t think so…I think I need to handle this myself.”

 

There was a pause, as Angel stopped in the doorway, turning to face her with a level, piercing gaze. “Sure about that?” he asked quietly. “I mean – there might be – something I could do…”

 

Buffy stared at him for a long moment, a frown forming on her brow as she tried to read his expression – and then fading into an incredulous, indignant look as understanding came to her.

 

“How did you – you *knew* when you came here what was going on, and you didn’t tell me!” she accused him angrily, suddenly pushing him away from the doorway, back into the house, and closing the door hard. “You put on the whole big apology act, and all the while you knew already and…”

 

“No – I really did want to apologize to you, Buffy…”

 

“But that’s not why you came here…”

 

“It’s *part* of why I came here…”

 

“And what’s the other part?” she demanded, arms folded once again over her chest, only this time in a challenge rather than a defense. “Why are you here, Angel?”

 

“Because he’s family!” he snapped back suddenly – taking them both by surprise with the vehemence and conviction in his voice.

 

After a moment of shocked silence, both yielded from the fierce stare down taking place between them, at the same time, as the steam seemed to go out of their anger.

 

“That’s how you knew, isn’t it?” Buffy realized, her voice more subdued now. “Because you’re his sire, or grandsire or whatever? It’s some – freaky vampire bond thing?”

 

“Sire,” Angel corrected simply, before replying with a small smirk of mild amusement, “and yes, it’s a ‘freaky vampire bond thing’. He’s family,” he repeated firmly, holding her gaze intently. “I’d – I’d been feeling it for a while, when you came to see me.”

 

Her eyes snapped back up to his in shock at that admission – and he had to look away, ashamed.

 

“I just – I was understandably pretty mad at him, Buffy. I told you about the last time I saw him – I’m sure you can understand why I wasn’t exactly eager to run out and rush to his rescue,” Angel pointed out, more than a little defensive. He was silent for a long moment, before he added, his voice softer now, “But – by now – I am. You can’t resist the call of family – not for long.”

 

“It was long enough,” Buffy bit off the words, full of accusation as she glared at him. “Too long.”

 

Angel winced slightly, his eyes apologetic. “How bad is he?”

 

“Much worse than he would have been if you’d tried to find him when you first knew he was in trouble,” she shot back, her eyebrows raised in a challenge. “But you had to just ignore it – and you should see him now, Angel! I hope you’re happy with what you allowed to happen…”

 

“Where is he?” Angel asked, his eyes softening with concern as he glanced around the room and then up the stairs, taking a step in that direction.

 

“*No*,” Buffy snapped, her voice low and every bit the Slayer, as she smoothly stepped between Angel and the stairs, a look of steely determination in her glittering emerald eyes.

 

Angel stopped, sighing heavily and lowering his head for a moment.

 

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m sorry I didn’t help you to begin with – but please – please let me help now. I *want* to help – and I’m his sire. I *can*.”

 

Buffy studied his expression for a moment, her eyes intent and troubled as she tried to decide.

 

Her mental deliberations were cut off by the ringing of the doorbell.

 

Frowning, she turned toward it, pausing to reiterate firmly, “Don’t, Angel – not until I’ve had a chance to talk to you. You need to know what to expect – he’s not – not the same…”

 

Angel nodded silently, a worried frown creasing his brow as she moved to answer the door. He glanced almost compulsively up the stairs again – but made no move toward them.

 

Buffy opened the door – and could hardly suppress her irritated sigh.

 

“Hi, Riley – I’m – kind of busy right…now…”

 

Her weak protest trailed off as the ex-soldier strode past her into the house, shrugging off her words. “Anything I can help with?”

 

“No,” she replied emphatically, a slight tremble of ironic laughter in her voice. She wasn’t sure yet whether she was going to tell Riley about Spike at all – let alone enlist his help in caring for him.

 

As if he would be willing to help at all, anyway – once he knew what it was that she was doing.

 

The tension level in the room rose immediately as her two exes caught sight of each other, and fell into a stony silence weighted with the unspoken challenge that lay unfinished between them.

 

“Riley – you remember Angel,” she said flatly, and completely unnecessarily.

 

“Yeah,” Riley replied slowly, his attention focused on Angel. “What’s he doing here?”

 

“Riley!” Buffy’s eyes widened in surprise.

 

“I have every right to be here,” Angel countered, turning around and stepping toward Riley with unmistakable menace in his stance. “What are *you* doing here, boy?”

 

“Um, hello?” Buffy broke in, rolling her eyes as she stepped deliberately between the two posturing males and placed a hand on each of their chests, pushing them back away from each other with just enough force to remind them that they were dealing with the Slayer.

 

“Remember me? The one who actually *lives* here, and gets to decide who’s allowed to be here?” she asked pointedly, looking back and forth between them. “And since I let both of you in, I’d say this whole discussion is pointless.” Satisfied that there would be no immediate outbreak of violence, she turned away from them, shaking her head as she muttered resentfully, “Though why I did, I’m really not sure…”

 

“Hey!” Angel objected, offended.

 

“What?” Riley frowned, his human hearing not having picked up her words.

 

Before she could be pressed to explain, or intervene in another tense showdown between the two – Buffy was frustrated and surprised to hear her doorbell ring yet again.

 

“Grand Central Station around here, and I really don’t have time for this!” she snapped at no one in particular, as she turned and opened the door again. Her expression softened somewhat at the disarming smile on the face of the new person at the door, and she sighed, a resigned smile coming to her lips as she remembered that *this* person was actually *supposed* to be here tonight, for the weekly movie night that he shared with her and Dawn.

 

Neither she or Dawn had thought to call and cancel for the evening.

 

“Hey, Xand,” she sighed wearily. “Come on in. Join the party.”

 

He stepped through the door, his smile fading as he saw who was already gathered there. The three men looked back and forth among themselves for a few tense moments, before Xander remarked flatly, “Wow. Some party.”

 

Buffy drew in a deep breath, wondering how her evening had spun out of her control so quickly, when all she really wanted to do was to spend it the same way she had spent her day – cuddled up in her bed with her sister and Spike, watching television and bonding with the man she had thought that she had lost forever.

 

She quickly came to terms with the fact that before that could happen, an explanation was going to be necessary.

 

Or – perhaps not.

 

A sudden sound on the stairs drew Buffy’s attention – and the attention of the others – as Buffy’s heart dropped into her stomach with a sudden sick sense of apprehension. Dawn’s voice was clearly heard from the top of the stairs.

 

“Come on – that’s it – you can do it…*Buffy*!” she called down the stairs excitedly. “Come look at this, look at how much better he’s doing! He’s walking on his own!”

 

“Who is?” Xander asked, curious, as he ambled toward the bottom of the stairs.

 

“Dawn…” Buffy objected, wanting to stop her sister – but then realizing that if she stopped Dawn, it would look as if she was trying to hide Spike from the others…and *that* would certainly not tend to make them see the situation in any sort of positive light. “Dawnie, Honey, wait…”

 

But Dawn was too excited to pay attention to her, as she backed slowly down the stairs, her hands held out in front of her, an encouraging smile on her face. As she reached the middle of the stairs, the group in the living room could see the hands that she held in hers, as she guided her charge carefully down the stairs.

 

When they came low enough that they could see who the person was -- near pandemonium broke out as everyone began to speak at once.

 

“What is *he* doing here?” Riley snapped, disgust clear in his voice.

 

“Um – Buffy – you and Evil Dead here aren’t…?”

 

“Xander!” she cut him off sharply, giving him a warning look that reminded him that the history he was about to refer to was not exactly common knowledge.

 

As for Angel, his intent gaze had not left the open, slightly lost expression on the face of his childe. When the others began to speak, he took a step toward the staircase, holding out a warning hand toward the others as he addressed his question to the Slayer.

 

“My God, Buffy – what happened to him?”

 

Spike was on about the fourth step, when he suddenly froze, his eyes wide with shock, his body rigid with terror.

 

“Spike?” Dawn frowned with concern, the first to notice his reaction. “Spike – what…?”

 

The blonde vampire made no attempt to respond, just began slowly shaking his head, as he jerked his hands out of Dawn’s and back-pedaled rapidly – the only problem being that he was on the stairs, and in so doing, only managed to fall backward onto his rear on the stairs.

 

Panicked, he drew back against the banister beside him, a high-pitched keening sound, somewhere between a sob and a wail, rising in his throat as he drew his arms up over his head in a pitiful attempt at self-defense against some unknown foe.

 

Buffy’s eyes widened in alarm as she rushed without hesitation toward the stairs, joining her sister, who was attempting to put her arm around the fearful, resistant vampire, as she whispered reassuringly to him.

 

“Spike – Honey, what is it?” Buffy murmured, sitting down on the stairs beside him, taking his hands firmly in hers and pulling them gently but insistently down away from his face. “Spike – it’s okay, Spike – calm down, Sweetheart…”

 

“Sweetheart?” Riley scoffed, his eyebrows raised in skeptical derision.

 

“Buffy?” Xander’s voice was cautious, full of concern, though Buffy knew that the concern was for her, not Spike. “What’s going on? Can I help?”

 

Buffy’s outstretched hand toward him, though she did not look at him, halted him where he was. He knew better than to move any closer, but he stayed near in case Buffy should need him to do anything.

 

Angel ignored the unspoken order, slowly approaching his trembling, terrified childe, who seemed to be attempting to burrow into the Slayer’s side, as she held him close to her, trying to soothe him – with little success.

 

“Spike?”

 

The smaller vampire flinched visibly at the low, soft sound of his sire’s voice, freezing momentarily, before pulling back further against Buffy, a pleading whimper in his throat as he clung to her, wordlessly begging for her protection.

 

“Angel!” she said sharply, her voice hoarse with tears that she had not realized she was shedding until that moment. “Angel, don’t!”

 

He ignored her, taking another slow cautious step toward the little group huddled on the stairs. “Spike – look at me, Spike,” he said softly, calmly, his dark eyes focused on him intently.

 

“He doesn’t even know what you’re saying,” Dawn snapped through angry, frustrated tears. “Just back off, Angel!”

 

A slight frown of annoyance passed across his brow, and then was gone, as Angel resolutely ignored her as well as Buffy, advancing further – and though Buffy was apprehensive about what he was doing, unsure how he could possibly help…something in his face kept her from taking any further action to stop him.

 

That – and the fact that beside her, Spike had gone completely still.

 

He still clung to her, his eyes screwed tightly shut, his trembling hands clutching desperately at her blouse – but his shaking had lessened, and his head was tilted slightly toward the older vampire, as he appeared to be listening to his soft, almost hypnotic words.

 

Angel stopped his advance a few yards from the foot of the stairs. “Spike,” he repeated, a note of authority in his voice – which then softened, as he tried again, more gently.

 

“*William*…”

 

Spike went completely still all at once – and then suddenly, withdrew from Buffy, pushing weakly past a stunned, dumbfounded Dawn to stumble blindly down the few remaining stairs – assuming a horrifyingly familiar subservient position at the feet of his sire, who immediately crouched down beside him, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder in a reassuring gesture of comfort.

 

Though his eyes were solemn with grim dismay at the horrible abuse that had obviously been done to Spike, a slight smile formed on Angel’s face at the considerable success of his attempt. He looked up at Buffy, his lips parted to speak – and froze, at the look of stunned, disgusted accusation on the faces of both girls.

 

“Angel,” Buffy whispered, her eyes wide and stricken with horror, as she shook her head in a sheer refusal to believe what her eyes were telling her. “My God, Angel – what have you done?”


	18. Chapter 18

“Wait a second!” Angel objected quickly, his voice trembling slightly and his eyes wide with alarm as the stunned look on the Slayer’s face shifted before his eyes into a mask of sheer fury. “Buffy – you’ve got this all wrong! I haven’t…”

 

“Do I?” she countered, standing up from where she sat on the stairs, coming down the last few and stepping past the kneeling blonde vampire to stand in front of Angel – who swiftly rose to his feet when he saw her approaching.

 

He hoped to be able to convince her that he was telling the truth – but at any rate, he knew that it would be best for him to be on his feet when she reached him, to at least have a chance at defending himself physically – should it come to that.

 

It was really beginning to look like it might.

 

“Let’s just do a brief recap, then, shall we?” Buffy went on, giving the larger vampire a rough shove backward – away from Spike. “I go to you for help to find him – and you practically bite my head off and refuse to help…and then for some reason, the very *day* after I find him in that – that torture chamber – you just ‘happen’ to decide that all of a sudden, you wanna do the right thing?”

 

“Buffy – I should have come sooner, I know – but that doesn’t mean…”

 

“*Something* sure freaked him out just then! I try to tell you guys to all just back off – but big surprise -- *you* think you know what’s best, better than I do!” Buffy rolled her eyes, and her scathing tone made Angel wince, as she advanced on him, backing him into the living room and away from the trembling, cowering vampire still on his knees behind them.

 

Once both Angel and Buffy had moved away, Spike began shaking again, whimpering – apparently not daring to move from the position he had assumed, and yet terrified by the angry sounds around him, having no way of knowing what was going on or what to expect.

 

While both Xander and Riley just stood there near the stairs, watching the confrontation between Buffy and the former love of her life with a certain amount of pleasure in their gleeful expressions, Dawn chose to focus her attention on her friend, as she hurried down the last few steps and knelt beside him, putting her arms around him and gently trying to coax him up out of that awful, subservient position that made her stomach hurt just looking at it.

 

“Spike,” she whispered, “it’s okay…Buffy’s not gonna let Angel hurt you – I promise…you’re safe, it’s okay, I don’t care what he told you but you don’t have to do this! Come on, Spike, get up…get up, Spike…” she urged him.

 

But he absolutely refused to move; it was as if she was not even speaking to him. She was relieved to feel him leaning slightly toward her, as if seeking the comfort that she offered – but something had him convinced that he was supposed to be on his face before Angel – and he seemed determined to stay that way, for the moment.

 

“Buffy,” Angel continued to defend himself the moment that Buffy stopped to take a breath – something that he did not have to do – “you don’t understand. It’s a vampire thing – I’m his sire! Naturally, he’s going to sense my authority…”

 

“He doesn’t even remember his own *name* for all we know!” Buffy snapped, the rage in her voice clearly not all because of the single incident that had just happened. “If he does, he can’t tell us! He doesn’t remember us from before – how in the world would he react like that to *you* unless you’re the one who’s…”

 

“I’m not!” Angel insisted, raising his voice in frustration as his back hit the wall beside the couch, and for the first time he became actually a little bit afraid for his safety. “Buffy, I’m his sire! His demon is going to be aware of that in some way, no matter what’s happened! He’s going to sense the authority of the bond, and remember…”

 

“Remember what?” Buffy cut him off again, and he flinched at the clear threat in her darkened jade eyes as she moved in closer to him menacingly. “Is that how you used to treat him before? When you were his sire? Because if it is…”

 

“I’m *still* his sire!” Angel suddenly exploded, his game face coming to the forefront as he stepped forward, a challenge in his blazing golden eyes. He didn’t touch Buffy – but she still found herself stumbling back a step or two at his sudden movement. “I always will be his sire! *Nothing* can change that!”

 

The intensity of his trembling voice, the defensive rage for his childe that, if not sincere, was terribly convincing, halted Buffy’s continued attack, for the moment. She swallowed hard as she fought for control of her own voice, her emotions, before she finally replied in a low, trembling voice of anger and accusation.

 

“Really? Because I sure thought you felt differently a couple of weeks ago!”

 

Angel winced slightly at the very deserved condemnation of her words – and his game face slowly faded back into his human guise, as he drew in a deep, settling breath, before meeting her eyes again.

 

“I’m sorry, Buffy. I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner. But I’m here *now* -- and I’m here to help – because he needs me – not to hurt him. I’m not the one that did this to him, Buffy – I didn’t hurt him. I swear it.”

 

Buffy studied his expression for a long moment, and found herself, almost against her will, desperately wanting to believe him. After all – this was *Angel*…and while she no longer had the feelings for him that she once had, she hated to think that he was capable of committing such horrible acts as had been done to Spike.

 

*He is,* a traitorous voice in her mind reminded her. *Or at least – he was…*

 

“Then why did he freak out the second he came downstairs?” she asked – though the question was more troubled and thoughtful than angry and accusing.

 

Angel shrugged, a grim expression on his face as he looked past her to the terrified blonde vampire, still shaking violently despite Dawn’s attempts to comfort him. “I don’t know,” he replied. Then, his eyes narrowed as he raised his eyes to take in the other two men in the room, where they stood a few yards away.

 

“But I’m not the only new factor in this equation for Spike, Buffy,” he pointed out – and there was a low, dark edge to his voice that sent a little shiver down her spine, though she knew the emotions she heard there were not directed at her.

 

She stared up at him suddenly, startled, as she realized what it was that he was suggesting.

 

“You mean – you think…?”

 

“Hey,” Xander objected, his eyes wide with surprise, an edge of disgust to his voice at the very idea of what Angel was insinuating. “I’m no friend of Spike’s – we all know that – but I haven’t seen him in months. And if I was gonna do anything at all to him, I’d stake him – not – turn him into a retard or whatever the heck happened to him,” he remarked with a dismissive sort of wave in the direction of the kneeling, whimpering creature.

 

“Don’t look at me,” Riley snorted when everyone did. “Hey – I just got back in town.”

 

“And it could be something else entirely,” Angel admitted quietly, though he seemed reluctant to detract from any suspicions she might be developing toward the other two. “I mean – he’s not exactly coherent. We really have no way of knowing *what* it was that set him off.”

 

Buffy felt as if the breath – and the steam she had been running on during the confrontation with Angel – had just been knocked out of her, as she glanced between the three men in confusion and uncertainty.

 

Finally, she let out a weary sigh and said quietly, “We’re going to have to sit down – I’ll explain to you guys what’s going on, and we’ll see if we can figure this out. But first – I need to take care of Spike. Everybody just – go. Sit down. In the living room. And – try not to kill each other…”

 

“Buffy,” Angel began hesitantly. “I can…”

 

“Just go sit down, Angel,” she cut him off sharply. “I can handle this – and until we know what’s going on here, I think it’s best if you stay out of it.”

 

Angel opened his mouth as if to protest, but then seemed to think better of it, and forced himself to walk past his childe and into the living room, leaving Spike’s care to Buffy for the moment.

 

The Slayer knelt at the side of the traumatized vampire, who immediately turned toward her, grasping desperately at her skirt as he rested his head on her knees, sobbing softly with fear and confusion.

 

“Shhh,” she whispered soothingly, reaching a hand down to gently touch his cheek, while her other hand went to his shoulder in an attempt to push him up to a sitting position, to get him to face her. “Spike – it’s all right – get up, Sweetie. Get up.”

 

At her gentle command, he flinched slightly – and though she hated to think that he still thought he *had* to do it, just because she had said so…she could not quite bring herself to take the words back. She wanted very badly for him to understand that he was not her prisoner or slave or whatever it was that he had been made to see himself as – but until she could convince him of that, his need to please *did* make certain situations a little easier to deal with.

 

The sense of guilt she felt at that very thought was overwhelming – but she pushed it back, focusing on Spike and what he needed from her right then.

 

As he raised tear-soaked, reddened eyes to hers – her breath was nearly stolen away by the stark pain and panic in his gaze, wild and darting around the room, no doubt searching for whatever threat had thrown him into such a panic in the first place.

 

“It’s all right,” she assured him, gently running her fingers down his cheek in a soothing, repetitive motion which gradually drew his focus back in to her face. “It’s okay, Spike, nobody is going to hurt you. *Nobody* -- I promise. I want you to go upstairs – okay? You and Dawn?”

 

His immediate glance toward the girl at his other side startled her – and thrilled her – but there was no time to exult in this most recent small sign of progress, not right then.

 

“Dawn?” she repeated quietly, nodding in a leading manner, pleased when he once more glanced at the younger girl before meeting her eyes again. “Go with Dawn…okay?”

 

Spike nodded emphatically, and Buffy smiled. It was very clear that leaving the room was exactly what he wanted at that point – to retreat back to the safety of the upstairs bedroom where they had spent the day.

 

If only she could do the same – but she couldn’t. Not yet.

 

There was a very important conversation – or three – to be had first.

 

*********************************

 

Spike was so terribly confused, utterly terror-stricken, could not seem to think past the panic of recognition that had come over him at the sound of that awful, familiar voice – the one that he had fooled himself into thinking could not find him here, not as long as he was in this warm, safe place – with *her*.

 

But that voice *had* found him.

 

In his haste to escape, he only managed to stumble and collapse on the unfamiliar obstacle behind him – the one that the younger girl had wanted him to attempt to manage – and could not hold back the sobs of desperation and despair, at the realization that there was no way he would be able to get away – not before *he* got to him.

 

The girl had tried to soothe him, her soft voice telling him lies that he knew could not be possible. She could try all she wanted to make him believe that he was safe, that he would not be punished – but as long as that voice was there, in the background as she spoke, there was no way that he could believe it.

 

And then -- *she* was there, with her arms around him, holding him close to her and reassuring him…and though he did not understand much about his current situation at the moment, there was one thing that he sensed on an instinctive level, through his panic and confusion.

 

If there was anyone that could protect him from his tormentor – it was her.

 

He had clung to her, his mind racing in the frantic, useless attempt to find words for his desperation, for the plea he wanted to make for her mercy, her protection.

 

*Please,* his mind echoed again and again, though he could not make the thought come out in words. *Please, please, don’t let him, don’t let him hurt me, please!*

 

Her soothing voice as she held him close to her seemed to suggest that she understood.

 

But then – another voice had entered his hearing – oddly familiar – and full of a power that he could not quite understand – and yet…it *called* to him…

 

He froze within her embrace, trying to understand…as that soft, powerful voice went on and on…

 

“*William*…”

 

Something electrifyingly powerful – some flash of recognition, there only for an instant…and then gone – flew through his mind at the sound of the word that he *knew* -- he just could not remember how…

 

And suddenly, a new knowledge entered his mind.

 

This one before him, speaking to him, held the power of life and death over him. Something deep within him recognized the authority in that voice, in the softly spoken command as he was ordered, “Come here…”

 

And he could do nothing – but to come.

 

Even as he obeyed, falling at the feet of this new – and yet so very old – power, as he knew was required of him – he felt an anxious uncertainty at the thought of the girl who had been holding him only moments before – the girl who had rescued him from his torment and been so kind to him…

 

…the girl whose power, whose protective anger he could feel even from here…

 

And suddenly – he had no idea whose command to obey.

 

He simply stayed there, trembling, on his face, not daring to move at all, as voices were raised in the sounds of a violent confrontation – and he knew, again instinctively, that whatever they were saying, the battle of wills was over *him*, and his fate.

 

And he had no idea who he wanted to win.

 

He simply waited in humble submission – to him – to her – to them both – until the outburst seemed to have passed…and then, she was back, on her knees beside him, drawing him back into her arms.

 

He had no idea what had happened – all he knew was that he wanted so desperately to be right there, with her – no where else – and was terrified of being taken from her. Still, in spite of that desire, he could feel the powerful pull of the other one, the one whom he sensed should mean so much to him.

 

And all the while, in the background, the terrifying presence of the one who had broken him so thoroughly.

 

*Please, please don’t let him take me…please…please…please…*

 

When she told him to get up, and he knew that she wanted him to look at her, it was all he could do to obey. All he wanted right then was to hide away forever from the confusion, the tearing of his heart between these two desires – but he obeyed.

 

When she told him to “go with Dawn” glancing as she did at the other girl beside them – his mind made a new connection, between the dark-haired girl staring up at him with concern, and the word that the other girl seemed to use so frequently around her – or rather – to *refer* to her…

 

It clicked in his mind, like the few other random pieces of information he had managed to put together since being here.

 

It was her name.

 

*Dawn*.

 

He could feel the older girl’s approval at his understanding, and his wounded spirit reveled in the warmth and joy of knowing that he had pleased her. When she asked him again to go with Dawn upstairs, he eagerly agreed, wanting to escape the confusion and terror of the scene, the horrible presence of his enemy – but more than anything, wanting to please *her* again.

 

Trusting to her judgment, leaving her fate in his hands – Spike obediently followed Dawn up the stairs.


	19. Chapter 19

Silent, her arms crossed over her chest in a determined stance, Buffy walked slowly, purposefully, into the living room, where Angel, Riley, and Xander were all waiting for her.

 

None of the three even looked at each other; each seemed intent on completely ignoring the presence of the others.

 

All eyes were on her, as she looked thoughtfully from one to the other, her fierce, piercing gaze every bit the Slayer that she was.

 

“Okay – we are going to get to the bottom of this – no matter how long it takes.”

 

“Okay,” Xander replied without hesitation, but in a very calm, nonconfrontational voice, “before we do that…don’t you think most of us should know what ‘this’ is?”

 

After a long moment of silence, Buffy let out a weary sigh, as she sat down on the arm of the one chair in the room that no one was sitting in, covering her face with her hands for a moment. When she raised her eyes to look around the room again, some of the anger seemed to have left her expression.

 

“Buffy – I know you were looking for Spike a couple of weeks ago,” Angel began cautiously, obviously a bit wary of arousing her anger again. “Why don’t you just start by telling us about – when you found him? What happened to him, Buffy?”

 

The genuine concern she heard in his voice for Spike was the only thing that kept Buffy from being irritated by his usual tendency to try to take charge of the situation. That – and her total exhaustion and weariness of having to be the one in charge of the situation.

 

“I’m still trying to figure that out,” she replied, her gaze still traveling from one of the men sitting in front of her to the next, again and again, trying to gauge their reactions, to determine how much each knew, and whether or not they were hiding anything. “He hasn’t been able to talk since I found him, so – I haven’t got much to go on besides assumptions.”

 

“Why can’t he talk?” Riley frowned in confusion, though his interest seemed grudging, as if he somehow felt he was lowering himself even to ask about the vampire’s welfare.

 

Buffy had the sudden urge to throw him bodily out of her home.

 

“You were looking for Spike? Even after…” Xander’s incredulous voice broke off abruptly, and he suddenly averted his gaze, as if all at once deciding that he did not really want to bring up the painful history that he had been thinking of, not in front of Riley and Angel anyway.

 

“Yes, I was looking for Spike,” Buffy replied pointedly, a warning in her glittering green eyes as she returned her best friend’s slightly accusing look boldly. “I was worried about him. I’m sorry if that bothers some of you, but you have a relationship with someone and they just drop off the face of the earth – you’re pretty much gonna worry. Period. Can we move on now?”

 

“Oh, so it was a relationship, now,” Xander muttered, rolling his eyes as he looked away from her sullenly. “Last I heard it was a mistake.”

 

Choosing her battles carefully, considering the gravity of the situation, Buffy allowed that comment to pass unanswered, as she instead launched into her explanation, such as it was. She really did not know that much more than anyone else in the room about what had happened to Spike, as far as she knew.

 

“Riley,” she began, “the other night when we were patrolling, and we broke up that sacrifice? You know, the slime demons? When I chased that one, he led me down into the old Initiative caves.” She held his gaze intently for a moment, searching for a reaction – which she did not find – before looking at the others in turn as well.

 

“Spike was there,” she went on simply, her voice quiet but full of intense emotion, as she forced herself to stay calm enough to get the entire story out. “Chained up in those caves. He – he couldn’t see. He didn’t know me. He was – scared of me. He thought I was going to hurt him every time I touched him…”

 

The slight, almost inaudible growl that rose in Angel’s throat took her by surprise, and she looked at him sharply, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

 

His eyes widened when he became aware of the unintentional reaction, and he abruptly stopped growling, looking away from Buffy as he asked in a tone that was suddenly all business, “Any idea why he was like that? What happened?”

 

Without revealing her source of the information – for some reason feeling that it was probably best to leave Anya’s involvement out of the story for now, as long as Xander was around – Buffy replied tersely, “He’d been shot. In the head.”

 

A long moment of intense silence followed that announcement, as she took in the stunned expression of Xander, who looked as if even his known hatred of Spike could not dull the shock of such an act; followed by Riley’s surprised, but not particularly upset, look, reminding her that he had probably seen, and accepted, much worse acts done to vampires than a relatively “simple” bullet to the head.

 

As she turned to Angel, she jumped slightly, startled to see him in game face – and apparently unaware of it. He was making a visible effort to control his anger, not making a sound, though his golden eyes blazed with fury.

 

She quickly looked away from him, directing her attention to the other two, in an attempt to hold their focus, as she went on, “They had him chained up down there – I have no idea how long – they’d been starving him, and – and beating him – and worse. He’d been tortured. Very, very badly. That’s why he – he was so scared…”

 

She paused, swallowing back a sob, blinking back tears as she tried to regain enough control of her emotions to go on. Finally, she managed to continue, “It – it changed him. He can’t remember – anything, I think. Anyone. He didn’t remember me or Dawn – even very basic things – there’s only a few words he knew when I found him, and that was only because – whoever had him down there – had said them to him before…”

 

She lowered her eyes, unable to meet their questioning gazes as she thought of the way Spike had reacted to her when she had first found him, pleading and terrified and desperately submissive – obeying without hesitation anything that even remotely resembled a command.

 

“What words?” Angel’s sudden, softly spoken question drew her attention.

 

But she could not respond.

 

“Buffy – what words?” he pressed her, and she could hear the growl beginning in the back of his throat again.

 

“If he was that bad,” Riley broke in impatiently, a look of undisguised disgust on his face, “why didn’t you just stake him? Put the poor thing out of his misery? Seems to me that’d be kinder than letting him go on like that…”

 

Buffy fought back a wave of anger and resentment, fully aware that Riley’s concern had nothing to do with Spike’s welfare, and everything to do with his own jealousy and hatred of the blonde vampire who had eventually succeeded in winning his ex-girlfriend’s affections. She reminded herself that in a way, it was a valid question, considering the extent of Spike’s injuries – injuries that, had he been human, he would probably never have recovered from.

 

But – Spike was *not* human.

 

“I can’t, Riley,” she replied, trying very hard to keep the impatience and anger from her voice. “Not as long as – as long as there’s a chance that he can…can get better…and he already *has* gotten better…”

 

“Buffy – no offense here,” Xander said with a sigh, his dark eyes meeting hers with concern and a bit of an apology for what he was about to say, “but – don’t you think it’d be better for everyone involved? I mean – sure, maybe, in like, *years*, Spike could recover from those injuries – but are you just gonna focus all your time on helping him get well? What about the slaying?  Do you really think that *Spike* deserves so much of your time and attention?”

 

Buffy was silent for a long moment, her mind backtracking over the past couple of years – playing over scenes in her mind…Spike’s bruised and tortured form, sitting on the sarcophagus in his crypt after taking a truly hellish beating for refusing to betray Dawn to Glory…Spike’s earnest promise to protect her little sister “to the end of the world”, which he had faithfully kept, even after her own death…Spike’s giving her everything he had to give the previous year, when she had been so full of pain and brokenness that it was all she ever offered him…his bruised and bloodied face in the alley that night, behind the police station…

 

…and there was only one answer that she could honestly give.

 

“Yes.”

 

Xander studied her expression for a long moment – and wisely seemed to decide that arguing with her would be, at the very least, useless. He simply sighed and looked thoughtfully down at the arm of the couch on which his fingers were idly drumming.

 

“He’s got a point, though, Buffy,” Riley pressed – not possessing anywhere near the sort of instincts that Xander did when it came to the Slayer and her moods and emotions. “I mean – you have so much you’re responsible to do – how can you justify spending so much time on helping a *vampire* get well?” The incredulous note of disgust to his voice was impossible to miss.

 

“I’m not going to let anything else go to take care of Spike,” Buffy insisted, the tension rising in her voice with her frustrations. “It’s amazing how much he’s recovered just with one night of getting enough to eat. He’s already getting his sight back. I know I’ll be able to handle it – and I’ve got Dawn to help…”

 

“And me,” Angel interrupted firmly, his dark eyes challenging either of the other males to question the statement. “I’ll help.”

 

“Look,” Buffy went on, a tired note to her voice, which nevertheless held a certainty that allowed for no argument. “I know neither of you – none of you, really,” she added with a glance at Angel, “are all that thrilled about my relationship with Spike. But at the very least, he’s earned my friendship – and I’m *going* to help him. That’s not up for debate. If you absolutely cannot handle that – then there’s the door,” she concluded with an admittedly over-dramatic gesture of her arm toward the front door.

 

No one moved.

 

“Fine,” Buffy continued with a slight nod of satisfaction. “Then what I’m really wondering about, is what just happened in here a few minutes ago. Spike was doing a lot better – calming down some and starting to feel safer – then he came down those stairs, and bam! Instant freak out. What’s up with that?”

 

Although Angel had done his best to explain Spike’s earlier reaction to him, and Buffy really wanted to trust him, she still found herself turning her questioning eyes to the dark vampire as she spoke.

 

Angel let out a sigh of restrained frustration at her continued suspicion, as he repeated intently, “Buffy, I told you – I have no idea what made him freak out like that – but I did *not* do that to him!”

 

“Then why the instant obedience thing?” she frowned, puzzled, and still a bit suspicious in spite of herself. “You said come here, and he immediately went to you.” There was just the barest hint of accusation in her voice, and the words she had not said were still clear to Angel’s mind.

 

*…and left *me*…*

 

“It’s a vampire thing, Buffy. I’m Spike’s sire. He was freaking out, I wanted to calm him down – I used my sire voice with him,” Angel finally admitted, his eyes momentarily downcast, before looking back up at hers a bit anxiously, for her reaction.

 

“Sire voice?” she echoed, one eyebrow raised in expectation of further clarification.

 

“A childe can’t resist his sire’s voice, when it’s used a certain way. He had to obey…”

 

“Oh, that’s just great!” Buffy cut him off, her voice full of venom as she whirled around to face him, throwing her hands up momentarily in an “I give up!” sort of gesture. “He’s just been through probably months of torture and being forced to do whatever he’s told – and just when I’m starting to get through to him *you* come along and start forcing him to…”  
  


“No, Buffy, it’s not like that!” Angel urgently tried to explain. “I don’t expect you to understand, because you’re not a vampire – but it’s not a – a scary or abusive kind of thing – at least – not the way I used it that time. The way I used it – it can actually be comforting. I tried to make him feel safer – protected.”

 

Buffy was silent, taking that in – and she had to admit as she played the scene over in her head, that Spike had not really seemed *afraid* of Angel in that moment, but had rather seemed to be seeking the same sort of defense and protection that he had been seeking from her only moments before Angel had spoken.

 

*I was doing just fine,* the slightly resentful thought crossed her mind unbidden.

 

Her eyes widened, startled and slightly embarrassed at the sudden self-revelation that followed the thought. *Oh, come on, Buffy,* she chided herself. *You getting jealous over who he needs more is not going to help Spike at all!*

 

Suddenly, something Angel had said registered with her, and she latched onto it with subconscious relief, as the idea distracted her from her self-reflection.

 

“This time?” she repeated the words that had caught her attention, her eyes narrowing on her one-time lover in anger. “As opposed to the other times when you *did* use the sire voice thingy to hurt him?”

 

Angel’s expression took on a trapped quality, his eyes widening with guilt, just before he looked away from her. “Not in a – a very long time, Buffy,” he assured her nervously. “I swear it, Buffy – I haven’t done anything to hurt him in – in years.”

 

Buffy maintained her searching gaze, tilting her head slightly as she thought the situation through carefully. “So – even though he doesn’t remember anything – he somehow sensed that Dawn was safe – and he somehow recognizes you as his sire – so the whole submissive bowing thing – is *that* a throwback to his old memories, too? Did you used to make him do that, before?”

 

She knew it really wasn’t relevant – not after so much time had passed – but she somehow couldn’t stop herself from asking. She had to know.

 

Angel was silent for a moment, still not looking up at her, apparently accepting her scathing questions as no less than his due. “No,” he replied quietly. “It’s not. I could never make him do that…” He paused, suddenly looking up to meet her eyes with an arresting gaze, as he finished in a firm, unflinching voice, “…even when I tried to.”

 

Buffy did not back down, holding his gaze firmly, her eyes blazing with a righteous vindication and indignation on Spike’s behalf which, in all fairness, was not really all aimed at Angel – but she did not say a word, sensing that he was not quite through yet.

 

“No – I think that he instinctively recognized the authority in the sire voice,” he went on slowly, thinking it through carefully as he went along, “he had to have recognized it, because he *did* respond to it – but the – the bowing thing…that’s – I think it’s – the way he’s learned to respond to someone – in authority. Since his injury.”

 

Buffy’s expression darkened as she thought back to Spike’s initial reaction to her in the caves, his immediate response when she and Dawn had tried to feed him – and Angel’s educated guesses seemed to ring true. One thought echoed in her mind as she tried to force the painful images to the back of her thoughts again.

 

*Someone is going to pay…*

 

“Whoever did this – whatever they did,” Angel continued, his eyes flashing golden at the thought of the damage that had been done to his childe, “they managed to break him in a way that I as Angelus, at my worst, never did. And for that – they *will* pay.”

 

In his mind, Angel added intently, though he had no intention of further agitating Buffy with the sentiment,

 

*Because *nobody* touches my boy – but *me*!*

 

“Oh, yes, they will,” Buffy agreed, a subtle challenge in her blazing emerald gaze.

 

*Because *nobody* hurts *my* vampire and gets away with it!*

 

And in that instant, as the eyes of the master vampire and the powerful Slayer locked on each other, a silent challenge was passed between them, a single thought that each held in certainty, in regard to the helpless, broken vampire in the upstairs bedroom.

 

*Mine*!


	20. Chapter 20

The Slayer and the master vampire stood there for a long moment, glaring daggers at each other over the unspoken challenge that lay between them, before they seemed to simultaneously come to a decision.

 

They both cared about Spike, and he had been through a terrible ordeal. He was going to need a lot of support and caring and protection – and he was not necessarily completely out of danger yet, as long as the person who had done those things to him was still out there free.

 

For the moment – each decided that the other was not exactly the person they needed to be fighting.

 

“So – I still don’t get why he freaked out when he came down the stairs,” Buffy sighed, breaking the intense gaze she had been sharing with Angel and looking at the two men seated on the couch. “I mean – what could have caused that?”

 

“Vampires have very acute senses of smell, Buffy,” Angel pointed out thoughtfully, his own dark eyes fastened on Riley and Xander as well – but with a much greater suspicion in his gaze. “He hadn’t even looked this way when it happened – so my guess would be he either smelled something familiar – or heard a familiar voice – that frightened him.”

 

Buffy frowned, puzzled for a moment – and then her eyes widened with obvious dismay as she looked at Angel again. “You’re not saying that you think it was someone here who…”

 

“Five minutes ago it didn’t seem so strange to you,” the vampire muttered, rolling his eyes as he turned slightly away from her, obviously still a bit offended by her earlier suspicion.

 

Buffy deliberately ignored his behavior, which bordered on pouting, and replied instead, “But – I don’t think…”

 

“Or, it’s possible that he just heard the sound of an *unfamiliar* male voice,” Angel suggested, an odd look in his eyes as he held Buffy’s gaze. “Or smelled that there were men here – because men smell different than women, you know…and if it was a man that did it to him…it could have been enough…”

 

Buffy nodded slowly, not quite catching on to Angel’s attempt at wordless communication. “He’s only been with women since we found him. Just me and Dawn and – me and Dawn…so…maybe that’s all it was…”

 

Angel nodded, seemingly satisfied. “That’s probably all it was,” he agreed.

 

Buffy let out a weary sigh – which changed to a yawn halfway through – before smiling apologetically at her friends. “Hey, guys, I’m not trying to be rude – but it’s been a really long day, and I really think I ought to check on Spike. I just think it might be best if everybody just went home for now – okay?”

 

Xander looked troubled, glancing up the stairs before meeting Buffy’s eyes with resignation. “Okay, Buffy. Whatever you think is best,” he agreed quietly.

 

Seeing the concern on his face, Buffy stifled her annoyance at his obvious – and typical – suspicions. “Xander – he can barely walk down the stairs on his own…he’s not dangerous.”

 

“Did I say he was dangerous?” Xander retorted mildly, giving her a conciliatory smile of resignation as he headed for the door. “You owe me a rein check on movie night, Buffy,” he reminded her as he left the house.

 

“I don’t know, Buffy,” Riley said, stopping at the base of the stairs on his way to the door, glancing up them with undisguised distrust. “I know you don’t think he’s dangerous – but he’s like a wounded animal, Buffy. Totally unpredictable. Are you sure you don’t want me to…?”

 

“I’ll stay if Buffy needs someone to stay,” Angel cut him off coldly, glaring at the ex-soldier with clear disdain.

 

Buffy had no intention of Angel’s staying, either – but if it would help to get Riley to leave…

 

“See?” she smiled up at him with false gratitude. “Thank you, Riley – but I’m okay, really. You can go.” Silently, in her head, she added, **Please* go!*

 

As soon as Riley had reluctantly shut the door behind him, Buffy turned to face Angel.

 

“Please go,” she stated firmly, giving him a serious look. “I mean – I appreciate this, Angel, I really do – but I think it’d be better if it was just us right now…”

 

Angel was silent for a long moment, taking in her expression, obviously wanting to argue. Like the other two before him, he glanced uncertainly up the stairs – but the look in his eyes was one of compassion and worry, rather than hatred and suspicion.

 

“Buffy,” he said finally, meeting her eyes again. “I really wish you’d let me stay. I think I can help. But – if you won’t…at least listen to what I have to say.”

 

Buffy was silent, her expression not changing, as she waited for him to go on.

 

“I don’t think you should trust those guys…”

 

“Xander and Riley?” she said incredulously. “Angel, you can’t be serious! Do you honestly think that one of them could have done something so horrible?”

 

“Yes,” he stated simply.

 

She stared at him for a moment, before shaking her head emphatically. “No,” she argued insistently. “No, Angel, I *know* them – and I know that they’re not capable of…”

 

“You *never* know what someone is capable of,” he pointed out intently, his dark eyes blazing with a fierce, passionate need to make her see the danger that he could see. “Until they get the reason and the means to do it – you never know what someone can do.”

 

Buffy lowered her eyes, having no argument for what he was saying, besides her faith in her friends. “You said it could have just been…”

 

“I know what I said,” Angel cut her off gently. “And I wasn’t lying. But – it’s much more likely that it was a *specific* scent or sound, to set him off that badly. I just – didn’t want to give too much away…if it *was* one of them, and they know that you’re starting to suspect them – well – they’re around here a lot – it might not be…*safe*. For Spike.”

 

Buffy stared at him blankly for a moment, before what he was saying became clear in her mind.

 

“Are you saying that whoever did this might try to hurt him? To shut him up, before he can recover enough to tell me who did this?”

 

Angel’s silent gaze was answer enough.

 

“Okay, first of all – it couldn’t have been Xander or Riley who did this. And secondly, I don’t care if they *did* do this, *nothing* is going to happen to Spike while he’s here with me! I’m going to make sure that he’s safe – and at least until he’s gotten a *lot* better, there is no freakin’ way that I’m letting him out of mine and Dawnie’s sight!”

 

“I’m glad to hear that,” Angel answered after a moment’s silence as he considered her words. “Please be sure that you don’t.” He turned and opened the door, pausing just before stepping out into the night, looking at her pensively over his shoulder, “This is my childe we’re talking about here, Buffy. The last thing I want is to see him hurt any worse.”

 

Buffy was quiet for a moment, considering what to say – and then replied with an unmistakable note of reproof to her quiet, calm voice, “Nice of you to come to that conclusion -- *now*.”

 

Stung by her harsh words, Angel turned to go.

 

“Angel.”

 

He stopped on the porch, without turning, not wanting her to see the tears of guilt and hurt in his dark eyes.

 

“Please – don’t leave town.”

 

Surprised, he turned to face her, wanting to see the expression in her eyes – which immediately softened as she saw the unmistakable emotion in his eyes.

 

“I – we might need you. I’m *sure* we’ll need you,” she relented softly. “It’s just – for tonight – I want some time with him. To make sure he’s – calm – and feels safe…reassured. Okay?”

 

“Okay,” Angel agreed simply, as he turned and headed off into town, to find an available room for the next few nights…or weeks…

 

**********************************

 

Dawn was lying on the bed next to a badly shaken Spike, who was just starting to calm down a little, at the same time that Buffy and Angel were arguing about his fate downstairs. As the sound of raised voices reached their ears – and Dawn realized that he must have heard them long before she did – Spike flinched slightly, burying his face in her shoulder with a soft little whining sound.

 

“It’s all right, Spike,” she whispered soothingly, her slender arms holding the physically larger creature close to her – though at the moment he hardly seemed larger at all. Maybe a bit taller – but he had lost so much weight (and so much confidence) that he hardly seemed the greater of the two of them at the moment. “Me and Buffy aren’t gonna let anything bad happen to you, ever again…okay? I promise,” she whispered.

 

The way that her friend clung to her – the way his soft, pleading sounds seemed to die away as she held him and spoke softly to him – seemed to suggest that he understood at least a little of what she was saying…and Dawn suddenly remembered what had happened on the stairs just before they had come up to the bedroom, with a little thrill of excitement at the thought.

 

A sudden inspiration hit her, as she heard her sister’s angry voice raised again, and felt Spike flinch against her again. His keen vampire hearing did not seem to be allowing him to relax, no matter how hard she tried to get him to. Every angry word drifting up from downstairs seemed to make him tense up again, obviously reminding him of the abuse he had suffered, making him instinctively expect to experience more of the same.

 

What they needed was a major distraction – and fast.

 

She sat up suddenly, gently pulling Spike up with her, and placing a few soft pillows between his back and the headboard, before guiding him back to settle against them. He was watching her intently, a silent question in his luminous blue eyes. They were so clear, his gaze so piercingly expressive – Dawn found herself wondering if the second meal he had had that morning was already kicking in, and his vision had improved even since then.

 

His eyes *did* seem to be more focused on her, darting to follow her every movement as she shifted to sit cross-legged on the bed facing him.

 

“Wanna play a game?” she asked with a bright, encouraging smile.

 

**********************************

 

As Buffy trudged wearily up the stairs to her room, she found herself almost dreading what she might face when she walked through her bedroom door. Judging by how terrified Spike had been when she had sent him upstairs, and having only her little sister and her very limited experience in the realm of comfort…

 

Well, she did not expect it to be pretty.

 

Cautiously, she edged the door open, glancing inside before entering – not just throwing the door open as Dawn had done earlier. She did not want to do anything to frighten Spike unnecessarily.

 

Dawn did not seem to have heard her yet – but Spike was sitting on the bed, facing the door, very still as he looked intently toward it…and Buffy remembered what Angel had said about scent. Even if he could not quite see her through the crack in the door, it was likely that Spike already knew she was there.

 

*That’s a good thing, in this case,* she thought gratefully. *No surprises. He doesn’t need any more surprises right now…*

 

Satisfied that she would not be causing another major freak out by doing so, she opened the door and slipped quietly inside – finally alerting her sister to her presence, as well as Spike. Dawn turned around on the bed, beaming up at her with excitement.

 

“Buffy, you’ve gotta see this!” she announced exultantly. “Come sit over here and watch what Spike can do!”

 

“You’ve been teaching him already?” Buffy was surprised – and pleased.

 

“I thought it might be a good time to start,” Dawn said softly – and the look in her eyes made her reasoning clear to her older sister.

 

Buffy was *very* impressed.

 

Dawn just kept surprising her with the way she was handling this situation. She couldn’t say that she would have thought of it herself – but judging by Spike’s state of relative calm at the moment, Dawn’s attempt at distracting the nervous vampire seemed to have worked.

 

At least – until Buffy got close enough for him to catch the slight scent of the guys on her from downstairs.

 

He flinched slightly, pulling back against the headboard, looking at her, and around the room, over and over in confusion – as if he could not understand why he could smell what he perceived to be his enemy, and yet could not see him anywhere in the room.

 

“It’s okay,” Buffy soothed him gently, moving up to the head of the bed and carefully sitting down beside him, wrapping her arms around him and allowing him to nestle into her warmth, resting his head on her shoulder. “It’s just me – nobody here but just us…okay? Nobody’s going to hurt you, Spike…”

 

He seemed grateful for her nearness, desperate for the security that he was coming to associate with her – and yet still very confused by the scent that he could not quite place.

 

Noticing his obvious discomfort, Dawn decided to take charge of distracting him once more.

 

“Watch this, Buffy,” she repeated, meeting her sister’s eyes with a knowing look. “Spike is such a fast learner. I’m so proud of him!”

 

Though he could not understand all of the words, Spike glanced up at her at the sound of his name – a fact Buffy noticed with a thrill of joy, at this new and vital progress – and then smiled cautiously at the sound of approval and pride in her voice as she looked at him, talked about him.

 

“Spike,” Dawn said clearly, and he raised his head to look at her expectantly. “Where’s the *bed*, Spike?”

 

He hesitated just a moment, before lowering a hand to softly pat the mattress beside him, his eyes watching hers uncertainly for her response.

 

“Good!” Dawn exulted – and the vampire’s shy little smile grew just a tiny bit wider. “Now where’s the floor?”

 

Spike’s hesitant hand pointed in the correct direction seemed a cause for genuine celebration for the Summers’ girls. The new words he had learned seemed so simple, so basic – and yet, each new success gave them a fresh hope, with the reassurance that he *could* learn again – could eventually regain all that he had lost.

 

Because while he had had all his knowledge taken from him – he was *not* stupid.

 

“You’re doing good, Spike,” Buffy whispered to him, running a tender hand through his hair, careful to keep her touch to the top of his head. “Good – very good, Spike…”

 

She felt a little tremor go through him at her words, and tilted her head slightly forward to search his expression with concern – and was thrilled to see the beaming smile on his face as he gazed up at her with adoration in his hopeful blue eyes, as he thirstily soaked up the praise and affirmation that had been withheld from him for so long.

 

“Spike,” Dawn continued, drawing his gaze back to hers, this time with obvious excitement in his eyes to continue the game. “Who’s Dawn?” Her sapphire eyes twinkled playfully as she raised her hands in an exaggerated shrug, as if to suggest that she did not know.

 

He gave her a knowing look that resembled a look the old Spike might have given her, had she ever treated him so patronizingly, as he reached out a hesitant hand to briefly touch hers, before quickly drawing it away with a shy, uncertain tuck of his head as he leaned it back on Buffy’s shoulder.

 

“Good,” both girls said almost at once, as Buffy cuddled in closer to him, more than content just to sit there and hold him, for as long as he wanted. She glanced up at Dawn with a grateful smile. “Dawnie, honey, you’re doing so good too,” she informed her. “He’s picking up so much – and you’re really helping him a lot.”

 

“We need to teach him your name next,” Dawn stated with a self-satisfied grin.

 

“He may already know it,” Buffy observed softly, glancing down at him. “He already knew yours before you started teaching him. He recognized that I was talking about you downstairs.”

 

“Spike,” Dawn tried to get his attention again, though it was obvious that he was beginning to drift off to sleep in the Slayer’s warm embrace.

 

He had had a very traumatic little experience that evening, following a relatively long day, and was ready to rest again.

 

Still, he dutifully opened his sleepy eyes and looked at her again, waiting for her cue.

 

“Buffy – where’s Buffy, Spike?”

 

He was perfectly still for a moment, not moving at all – before he slowly looked up at her, his face nuzzling in close to her neck in a sort of primitive gesture of recognition and affection.

 

“I think he gets it,” Dawn muttered good-naturedly, rolling her eyes. “Good,” she said to Spike. “Buffy. Good.”

 

And then – Buffy heard it.

 

A soft, barely audible sound that was barely more than a vibration against her throat. It might have been no more than a breath of air expelled by the vampire’s dead lungs.

 

But somehow – she knew it was more.

 

Gently she pulled back from him a little, and he looked up at her uncertainly, but immediately reassured by the affectionate, encouraging smile on her face.

 

“Buffy – what?” Dawn had not caught it, and she frowned, puzzled.

 

“Shh,” Buffy gently instructed her, her eyes focused on Spike. “It’s okay, Spike – try it again…”

 

Dawn’s eyes widened, as the vampire’s lips just barely moved, and she realized what was happening.

 

“Come on, Spike – you can do it…try it again…” Buffy gently urged him, running a hand gently across his cheek and tilting his head slightly upward, causing his mouth to open just a bit wider. “Come on…”

 

A barely audible sound left his lips once more, as he struggled to do as he knew she wanted him to do.

 

“B-bu…”

 

“Good – that’s good, Spike…you can do it…*Buf-fy…come on…”

 

“Buf…Bu…”

 

“Buf – fy…come on, Spike,” she gently pressed him, speaking her own name slowly and clearly, trying to show him how to form the sounds.

 

Spike was indeed a *very* fast learner.

 

In the next moment, after months of enforced silence, forbidden and unable to speak a word – Spike finally spoke, a word that had meant more to him in the years that he now could not remember, possibly than any other.

 

“Buffy.”


	21. Chapter 21

He was back there -- in that place.  
  
The cold, empty darkness, where all he could feel was the unyielding iron at his raw, bleeding wrists, and the coarse stone that tore against the wounds that covered his back. He could not see, could not move -- all he could do was wait in terror for the one that he knew was coming.  
  
He could already feel him, making his way toward his underground prison -- could smell the acrid, oppressive scent of his body -- could hear his taunting voice in the distance...and a desperate sense of panic began to steal over him as he fought uselessly to escape his bonds.  
  
"You've been very bad, Spike," that dark, menacing voice informed him. "For a very long time..."  
  
Spike trembled under the condemnation of that voice, though he could not make out all of the words.  
  
One was enough.  
  
*Bad*.  
  
He was bad.  
  
He deserved what was happening to him, and no better. His fragile, wounded heart shattered again under the weight of his own shame and lonely misery, and he longed to call out for the one who had rescued him from all of this...  
  
*Buffy...*  
  
His heart ached with the longing to cry out for her -- to call for her to come and save him, before his enemy could reach him. But -- something kept him silent. He couldn't seem to make his trembling lips form her name as they had the night before.  
  
And suddenly, before he even had time to prepare himself -- as if he *could* have prepared himself -- his tormentor was right there, in his face. He couldn't see him, but he could feel the terrifying nearness of him, feel the heat radiating off of his body, as the man trapped him tightly between the wall and himself.  
  
"She won't help you, Spike," he said softly, tauntingly. "You don't deserve it. You think she doesn't see how disgusting and worthless you are? She's not stupid, Spike..." His captor's voice lowered even further, speaking again, so close to his ear that Spike could feel his hot, damp breath against his skin, and shuddered at the feeling of it, but moreso at the words, as he sneered,  
  
"Why do you think you're back here in the first place?"  
  
A sick feeling of terror washed over him, as Spike felt his entire body trembling; he shook his head, desperately attempting to deny what his captor was saying -- though he still could not seem to form any words. There was really nothing new about that; but after the triumph of the night before, the sweetness of her name on his lips -- this forced silence, this inability to even call out to her, was terrifying, paralyzing...  
  
"You don't deserve to be free, Spike," his captor informed him coldly. "All you deserve is pain and suffering -- in fact, it'd take longer than your unnaturally long life for you to really pay for all that you've done." He could hear the cruel smile in his voice, as he added softly, "But don't worry -- I've got plenty of time..."  
  
Spike's heart sank with despair, and the realization that his torment was not at an end, as he had hoped. He was helpless, alone, at the mercy of his tormentor -- and all he could do was to silently cry out in the prison of his own mind...  
  
*Buffy -- Buffy, please -- please, *help me*!*  
  
                                         **********************************  
  
The panicked, pleading cries of the terrified vampire beside her pulled Buffy from the safety of her own dreams -- and into the horror that was Spike's dream world. Automatically she glanced at the clock before turning her full attention to the traumatized creature in her bed.

 

3:32 A.M.  
  
"Buffy -- Buffy," he gasped out pleadingly, without waking. The despair in his hoarse, tearful voice tore at her heart as he cried out her name, and nothing else, "*Buffy*!"  
  
"Spike -- wake up! Wake up, Spike, it's okay! Wake up!" She caught the weakly struggling vampire by the arms, holding him in place easily -- and as gently as possible, so as not to jar the injuries that still covered his body. "Spike -- *wake up*!"  
  
Startled, anguished blue eyes opened on hers suddenly -- taking her breath away with the sheer agony of terror in his gaze, as he stared at her in confusion for a long moment, apparently not sure whether or not she was even real. His body was painfully tense, shaking under her carefully restraining hands; and he kept whispering her name breathlessly, even after he was fully awake.  
  
It was heartbreaking.  
  
"I'm right here," she reassured him gently, turning onto her side and pulling him into her welcoming embrace. "It's all right -- I'm right here...I've got you, Sweetheart, you're okay..."  
  
His breathless whispers broke down into desperate sobs, as he clung to her, shaking with the lingering terror of his nightmare.   
  
"Shhh," she whispered, one hand cupping the back of his head gently, and holding him to her, pressing his face gently against her shoulder. "It's all right, Spike -- you're safe now -- it's okay..."  
  
Gradually his sobs subsided a bit, and Buffy felt a sense of relief as he seemed to calm down -- until he suddenly pulled away from her, weakly resisting her comforting arms around him. She immediately let him go, not wanting him to misunderstand her intentions for even a moment; she would not touch him if he did not want to be touched.  
  
The Slayer watched in dismay as the fragile, wounded vampire -- appearing so much smaller than she remembered him -- literally folded in on himself, his head tucked against his chest, turned away from her in an obvious attempt to hide his face, as his sobs renewed with fresh intensity.  
  
This time -- he made no attempt to say her name...just lay there, pitiful, broken sobs torn from his throat as he tried to make himself as invisible as possible.  
  
"Well, this can't be good," she muttered, almost under her breath -- but Spike heard her.  
  
He shook his head emphatically, trembling as she edged closer to him, scooting just slightly away from her across the bed. Buffy stopped moving toward him, remembering how he had blindly fallen off of the bed the other morning, when Dawn had unexpectedly entered the room.  
  
"What is it, Spike?" she asked him in a soft, soothing voice. "Man, I really wish that you could tell me!" She reached out a cautious hand to touch his arm -- cringing slightly when he flinched at her touch. "I'm not gonna hurt you, Spike," she assured him, her voice barely over a whisper as she fought the impulse to immediately remove her hand, and instead closed her hand gently around his painfully thin forearm. "Come here -- come talk to me, okay?"  
  
Obedient as always, although he did not seem to want to be, Spike edged across the bed toward her, not pulling away this time as she put her hands on his arms and tried to get him to face her.  
  
"Spike, Sweetie -- look at me," she urged him gently. "Come on, Spike -- what is it?"  
  
He glanced up at her, giving her a single glimpse of tormented sapphire eyes shining with tears, before lowering his head again, in a gesture that, to Buffy, looked disturbingly like -- *shame*.  
  
"Hey -- no -- look at me, Spike," she pressed him, a frown of concern on her face. "Look at me."  
  
A pleading look of anguish crossed his face, as if he wanted to beg her not to make him -- but Buffy did not relent, as he hesitantly raised his eyes to hers again, his pale, bruised cheeks streaked with his tears.  
  
"What is it?" she asked in a gentle whisper of compassion, holding his gaze intently as she reached a slow, cautious hand up to wipe the tears from his face. "Spike -- are you afraid of me?"  
  
Somehow he seemed to understand that question, as recognition and surprise showed in his eyes, before he lowered them again, though he obediently kept his head turned toward her. He shook his head slowly, swallowing back a fresh sob of misery.  
  
Then, he seemed to change his mind, and hesitantly nodded, his eyes closed tight for a moment as he choked back his tears.  
  
Buffy felt her heart lurch within her with sorrow at his response. "Do you think I’m going to hurt you, Spike?”

 

He did not respond, and for a moment Buffy thought that he probably did not understand what she was saying. But after a brief hesitation, he shook his head again, still not looking up at her.

 

Buffy frowned, confused.

 

“Then – why are you afraid of me, Spike?” she asked him cautiously, her hands running up and down his arms in a comforting, grounding sort of gesture. “What do you think is going to happen?”

 

He did not respond at all for a very long time – did not move, made no attempt to speak or any indication that he had even heard her at all. And then – he glanced up at her uncertainly, before focusing his tear-filled eyes on the mattress beneath him, and opening his mouth to try to respond.

 

“B-ba…” He frowned with frustrated concentration as he tried to make the word come out of his mouth as he heard it in his head.

 

“Buffy?” the Slayer suggested, puzzled. That was her suggestion only because it was the only word he had spoken so far.

 

But Spike had something different in mind this time.

 

“B-ba-bad,” he whispered, closing his eyes tightly again, his head lowered in a clear attempt to close himself off from her.

 

Buffy’s eyes widened when she realized that Spike had just spoken his second word since his injury – and a word that she *knew* she and Dawn had not taught him. Was it possible that he was beginning to regain some old memories, at least basic ones? But then, her eyes widened further with alarm when she realized what the word that he had spoken was…though the context still did not quite make sense to her.

 

“Bad?” she echoed, confused. “Is that what you said? Bad?”

 

Spike nodded without looking up, his body shaking slightly under her hands.

 

Buffy glanced away thoughtfully for a moment, trying to figure out what he meant. “*I’m* bad?” she suggested after a moment. “Is that why you’re scared of me? Because I’m bad?”

 

Spike’s eyes shot up to hers immediately, startled – and she immediately knew that her guess had been wrong. He shook his head emphatically, looking a bit bewildered by the very idea that he might have been talking about her.

 

“Then – what’s bad, Spike? I’m sorry – I don’t understand…” Buffy earnestly but gently pushed him, truly wanting to understand, and not sure quite how to communicate with him.

 

He made it easy for her.

 

Spike looked down again, swallowing hard, his features contorting as he fought back his tears, and raised a single trembling hand to his own white-bandaged chest.

 

“Bad,” he whispered again with a heartrending certainty. “Bad…h-h-hurt…bad,” he nodded emphatically – and suddenly, the shame in his expression made an awful, painful sense to Buffy.

 

She didn’t even realize that her own face was streaked with tears as she struggled to speak past the aching knot in her own throat. “You think I’m gonna hurt you – because you’re bad?”

 

The expression on Spike’s face told her that she was partially right, but he was lost as to how to correct whatever detail she had wrong.

 

“Wait – you said – you *didn’t* think I was gonna hurt you…but…” Buffy frowned, shaking her head slightly as she tried to figure it out.

 

Spike looked up at her, a terribly sad, resigned sort of look on his face as he reached out a slow, hesitant hand to touch her shoulder, and shook his head firmly.

 

“Not me?” she guessed, biting her lower lip and furrowing her brow further with frustration. “Wait – you don’t think *I’m* gonna hurt you – but…you don’t think…” A sick feeling of horror started in the pit of her stomach, as with a flash of insight she suddenly understood.

 

“You think I’d send you back there – because – because you’re bad?” the last, awful words came out in a whispered question, as she pressed a gentle hand to his cheek and softly but firmly turned his face back toward her.

 

He still refused to look at her, but he nodded, his face crumpling as his sobs overtook him again, and he desperately leaned into her touch, wordlessly pleading for her not to do as he feared – not to turn him back over to the nightmare figure in his dream that had told him that she would.

 

Buffy could not speak for a long time, struggling against the sobs that rose up within her. She gently caressed his cheek in silent comfort, putting her other arm around him and pulling him closer to her.

 

“Spike,” she finally whispered in a low, husky voice that trembled with tears. “Look at me, Sweetheart…”

 

He obeyed, raising wide, painfully expressive eyes to hers – and in those deep blue eyes, she could see all too clearly the resignation, the acceptance of whatever she might decide to do with him, mingled with his obvious terror.

 

“I would never do that, Spike,” she assured him, speaking slowly and emphatically as she held his gaze firmly. “*Never*. The person – the *monster* who did this to you is never going to get his hands on you again, I promise! I would never, ever let him touch you! Do you understand?”

 

Spike looked terribly confused, uncertain. He glanced down again and again, seemingly unable to maintain eye contact with her for long due to the undeserved shame that filled his heart.

 

“Bad,” he repeated again, a certain stubbornness to his soft voice, as if he was determined to somehow make her understand that he did not deserve her promise. “Bad.”

 

“No!” Buffy said, a little more sharply than she had intended, though her anger was certainly not directed at Spike. She softened her voice when he flinched, and she realized that he could not possibly know that he was not the one who had angered her. “No,” she repeated gently. “No, you’re not bad, Spike. You’re good. *Good*. Okay?”

 

He looked up at her, a soft light of hope beginning to show just behind the fear and confusion in his eyes. He shook his head slightly, not quite ready to believe it yet. He had been told so many times how bad and worthless and evil he was; it was very difficult to believe the opposite now.

 

But Buffy believed it – completely.

 

The Spike she had known might have done many terrible things during his time before the chip – but there was not the slightest doubt in Buffy’s mind that this helpless, fragile creature before her now was in no way accountable for them. Spike’s mind had been shattered, and was slowly being rebuilt – brand new.

 

He was as close to an actual innocent as anyone she knew.

 

“Spike – you’re good,” she repeated softly, encouraged by the faint light in his eyes at the words. “I’m not going to hurt you, or punish you – you haven’t done anything to be punished *for*, Sweetie! You are *safe* here – safe – do you know what that means?”

 

He hesitated a moment, and then nodded, his eyes focused downward on the mattress, wide and a little startled, as if he could hardly make himself comprehend what she was telling him, it seemed so unbelievable to him, so incongruent with everything he had learned since his injury.

 

“I’m here to protect you, Spike – to keep you safe…not to ever hurt you…okay?” she explained softly. “And I will *never* -- *never* let anybody else hurt you again, either…okay?”

 

He nodded slowly, his wide eyes rising slowly to meet hers again, and she could see that they were brimming with tears of relief, joy, and absolute adoration. When she gently pulled him just slightly closer to her, he willingly moved into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder. His thin body shook with the release of his tears, as she held him there gently until he fell back to sleep.

 


	22. Chapter 22

By the next morning, Spike was feeling strong enough to come downstairs again – although only with Buffy’s repeated reassurance that the house was empty except for Dawn and the two of them. Even then, he kept glancing around anxiously for any sign that someone might have slipped into the house while she wasn’t looking.

 

He was getting better, much more quickly than Buffy had expected him to – at least, physically. It seemed that the relatively small amount of blood he had had in the last few days had done wonders. But the speed with which a normal, steady diet had accelerated his healing, only served to emphasize how terribly starved he had been in the first place; and emotionally, mentally, Spike was still clearly very far from okay.

 

He was very nervous most of the time, panicking at the odd unexpected sound or movement near him, and though he clung to both girls – but especially Buffy – with a desperate need for reassurance and affection, there still seemed to be a deeply ingrained fear in him, an expectation that if he did not do just what they wanted, just as they wanted him to do it, at all times – eventually, he would be punished again.

 

Buffy knew better than to think that telling him a single time that that could never happen would be enough to completely allay his fears. He had been in those caves for months, with nothing but torment and abuse to define his re-developing sense of himself, and the world, and what he could expect from those around him.

 

Certainly, she could expect it to take at least as long to tear down those damaging ideas as it had taken to place them in his mind in the first place.

 

Of course, Buffy really had no way of knowing exactly how long he had been kept there in the Initiative caves, but she had a feeling that it had been a *very* long time – certainly almost as long as he had been gone at all. Before she had known what had happened to him, she had assumed that Spike had simply taken off, unable to deal with the situation involving himself and Anya.

 

Now that she had him back, albeit a vague semblance of the vampire he had once been, Buffy remembered – running away had never been his style.

 

*No,* she reminded herself a bit harshly. *That was always *your* thing, Buffy.*

 

*Not anymore,* she firmly told herself, as she took a freshly warmed mug of blood from the microwave and took it to the island, where Spike was perched a bit awkwardly on one of the barstool style seats that surrounded it. *This time, you’re staying put, woman – for as long as he needs you.*

 

Spike had been gazing around the dimly shaded kitchen with wide eyes, taking in surroundings that should have been familiar to him -- but had been forgotten, like everything else he had ever known – with a sort of awe in his wide, impossibly innocent blue eyes.

 

When Buffy set the mug down beside him, automatically brushing her fingertips against his shoulder in a casual gesture of affection as she did – he startled violently with a frightened yelp, and would have fallen right off the back of the stool, had she not swiftly moved in behind him, steadying him with gentle hands at his sides.

 

“Shhh,” she murmured, as she felt him lean back against her, turning his head to nuzzle his face against her shoulder in obvious relief, seeking the comfort of her nearness. “It’s all right – just me…”

 

She had time to think that, although he was understandably still very nervous, the time between freaking out and calming down was getting less and less with each small scare – before suddenly, rational thought was momentarily stolen away from her, with the familiar touch of his cool, slightly roughened hands covering hers at his sides, in a touch that was nothing more than an instinctive need for reassurance and security.

 

Buffy’s body seemed to feel differently about that touch.

 

The electric tingles of sensation seemed to flow out from the place where their hands touched, flowing through her entire body, and reawakening within her a need that she had long since forcefully repressed – thinking that she would never have occasion to have that need fulfilled again.

 

She had told herself that she would never *allow* herself to fill that need again, even if he *did* come back…

 

But now – he *was* back – and all she could think of in that moment was…

 

*No!* she sharply reprimanded herself, stunned and horrified at the direction her thoughts were taking. *That’s the last thing he needs to worry about right now! God, Buffy, he’s like a *child*!*

 

She fought the impulse to snatch her hands away from his – to abruptly end the disturbing sensations caused by his cool hands on hers – and instead very slowly, gently, took his hands in hers and guided them to close around either side of the warm mug on the table.

 

She could not allow herself to even be tempted to take advantage of his vulnerability, his need – but she knew that if she pulled away from him suddenly, the rejection and loss would be too much for him, especially just now when he seemed to need connection with her so desperately.

 

Although she was sure to keep her movements slow and gentle, making her reasons for every motion clear to him, Spike still turned slightly on the stool, glancing up at her with uncertainty in his anxious blue eyes – an uncertainty that did not seem to be eased by the reassuring smile she gave him as she spoke gently to him.

 

“Go on, Spike. Drink up.”

 

As she spoke she casually moved away from behind him, moving to the other side of the island to busy herself with wiping a counter that she had just wiped not five minutes ago – keeping her eyes studiously averted from his the entire time, trying to give him the impression that nothing was wrong.

 

She failed miserably.

 

The first sign that alerted her to Spike’s distress was a soft, shuddering little breath from across the table – and she reluctantly looked up to see that his wide eyes were downcast, staring into the untouched mug in his hand, and his mouth was trembling slightly, as if he was on the verge of tears.

 

Despite her best efforts to appear natural and normal about moving away from him, the amazingly perceptive vampire had still managed to pick up on the fact that for some reason, she didn’t *want* to touch him.

 

“Spike – what is it?” she asked although she already knew the answer, trying to keep the note of impatience from her voice – and then flooded with guilt for that impatience, which was only there because she hated the fact that she’d accidentally hurt him by taking her hands off of him when she *had* to take her hands off of him, because if she didn’t she didn’t trust herself not to take things further than he needed them to go right now, and all she really wanted to do was to throw her arms around him and hold him close to her and make all his pain and confusion and that childlike, trusting, terrified look on his face just *go away*!

 

But it *wouldn’t* go away.

 

Not until he was really sure that he was safe, and protected, and not in danger of any further suffering for some small, imagined mistake on his part.

 

*And how can he be sure of that, if I won’t even touch him?* she finally gave in, swallowing hard and setting her jaw with determination as she made her way back around the island and put her arms gently around him.

 

*Nurturing-Buffy has to stay around,* she reminded herself firmly. *Because he needs me. Nothing else matters right now.*

 

As Spike turned on the barstool and gratefully leaned his head against her chest, his trembling hands coming to rest on her hips as he held her to him with near desperation, Buffy sighed in defeat.

 

*Nympho-Buffy will just have to exercise a little self-restraint.*

 

At that moment, Dawn made her way down the stairs, dressed in a thick, soft, baby blue bathrobe, her hair up in a towel, following a much-needed long, hot shower. She paused in the kitchen doorway, leaning against the doorframe, frowning in concern at the scene before her.

 

“What happened?” she asked quietly, not wanting to startle Spike.

 

It was obvious that something had happened to upset him, by the way he was clinging to her sister, and the way her usually brusque sister was gently soothing him, holding him to her with one arm around his back, her other hand playing gently through his hair.

 

“Nothing much,” Buffy sighed. “Just a Stupid-Buffy moment.” She looked up at her sister, her eyes glittering with unshed tears that expressed a myriad of confused emotions that she could not have put into words if she tried. “He can’t remember his own freakin’ name,” she said softly, “but he still remembers how to read me like a book.”

 

Dawn did not really understand what Buffy was talking about, but she got the impression that she really didn’t need to – so she just gave her sister a sympathetic smile as she went on into the kitchen to open the refrigerator.

 

After a couple of comfortably silent moments passed, Spike pushed lightly away from Buffy, raising his head to look at her, his own blue eyes damp with tears – but there was no mistaking the stubborn, slightly offended set of his jaw, or the determined, proud gleam in those shining eyes that was there for just a moment…

 

So much like the old Spike, that Buffy found herself breathless, as she gazed down at him in wonder.

 

“S-s…” he began, his brow furrowing with concentration as he tried to get his uncooperative mouth to form the word he wanted to say. “Sp-spike,” he finally stated emphatically, gazing up into her eyes with a brief look of elation at his success. “Spike!” And there was something in his smile in that moment that just barely hinted at the smirk that had once been second nature to him.

 

Dawn’s smirk was fully formed as she came to sit beside them at the counter, setting her glass of orange juice down.

 

“Doesn’t remember his own name, my butt!” she remarked with mild indignation to match what Buffy had seen in Spike’s eyes a few moments before. “I don’t think he liked you saying that, Buffy!”

 

Buffy stared at him, her mouth agape in amazement, her eyes lighting up with joy at what he had said. “Spike, that’s *wonderful*!” she told him, her voice rising in excitement.

 

She lowered her hand from his hair to his cheek – and he flinched slightly, his eyes suddenly anxious as they darted between her hand and her eyes. As always, his emotions were all too clear in his expressive gaze.

 

He had been determined, intent on showing her that he *did* remember his name – but now, after the moment had passed, was realizing how much assertion and boldness he had just shown. After being forbidden to attempt to argue back, to make a sound of protest – to in any way stand up to his tormentor – for so long, the sudden realization of his own rising courage was not only surprising to him.

 

It was terrifying.

 

But Buffy was so very proud to see it.

 

She ignored the flinch, knowing that it would take time for him to really understand that he would not be punished simply for speaking without permission, or even arguing with her – but given enough time, that fear would no longer be such a part of him. Whether or not it would ever truly go away completely, she had no way of knowing – but this small progress was definitely encouraging.

 

And for now – it was enough.

 

“Very, very good, Spike,” she whispered as she gently caressed his cheek, smiling down into his eyes with warmth and reassurance in her gaze. “I’m so proud of you…you’re doing so good, Sweetheart…”

 

His eyes widened slightly in surprise at her unexpected praise – and then lit up, as that soft, shy smile that melted her heart every time she saw it appeared on his face again. He dropped his gaze for a moment before looking up at her again through worshipful dark blue eyes.

 

Buffy felt her heart quicken with desire, and swallowed hard, but did not look away from him or stop touching him. She knew that he needed her much too much for her to take the selfishly easy way out of this situation and run away from him as she had always done before.

 

Her thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a sharp series of quick raps on the front door.

 

Spike jumped under her hands, his eyes flying toward the doorway that led out into the living room, in the general direction of the front door, as Dawn silently got up and went to answer it. Buffy wondered thoughtfully at the fact that he seemed to understand what the sound meant, though no one had knocked at her door, when he was around anyway, since she had found him. Could it be another memory returning to him?

 

As she studied his expression, she could almost see the thought process turning around in his injured mind.

 

Knocking sound equals person at the door…

 

Closed door and walls between him and the door equals *unknown* person at the door.

 

Unknown person at the door equals…

 

*Crap*.

 

“Spike,” she said softly, her hand at his cheek drawing his wild, panicked attention from the doorway back up to her eyes. “Sweetie, listen. You remember what I told you last night?”

 

He frowned slightly, looking away, and she could see his frustration, his confusion as he struggled against the panic to remember what she was talking about. His breath was coming in harsh, ragged gasps, and his body was shaken with tremors of fear as his wide-eyed gaze darted back and forth between her face and the still empty doorway.

 

“Spike – look at me, Sweetheart – I’m not going to ever let anyone hurt you – okay?” she reminded him, keeping her voice calm and intent, trying to hold his focus.

 

It was starting to work.

 

He hesitated, uncertain, and then nodded shakily, before lowering his head to her breast again, his shaking hands fisted in the end of her untucked shirt, as he clung to her, gasping for breath as he waged his own personal war with panic. Under his breath, Buffy thought she could hear him whispering something, though she could not tell what it was.

 

She heard a familiar male voice in the hallway – and felt her stomach drop with a combination of relief – and a certain amount of fear…the sort of fear that a child feels when they know their parent is about to hear from someone else about something that they did, before they will get the opportunity to explain.

 

She turned automatically toward the doorway as the two voices – Dawn’s and the other – grew nearer; and Spike clutched at her, drawing in a sharp gasp of panic when he thought she would move away from him, his voice rising slightly so that she could hear his words – and Buffy immediately felt her heart ache at the desperate, beseeching tone of his voice as he begged her simply.

 

“*Please – please – please…*”

 

“Shhh, it’s okay…he’s safe…he won’t hurt you…he’s okay, Spike…it’s okay,” she assured him, turning back toward him and wrapping both arms around him protectively.

 

She knew very well that it didn’t look appropriate to the eyes of the man who was suddenly standing in the doorway to the kitchen – could tell by the startled gasp of dismay that left his lips at the sight of them, that he would not approve – but it did not really matter to her at the moment.

 

Spike needed her reassurance.

 

And Giles would just have to get over it.

 

What was he even doing here, anyway?


	23. Chapter 23

“Oh dear.”

 

Buffy took a deep breath, fighting the instinctive desire to pull away from Spike and immediately begin explaining herself to her Watcher. She knew the effect that such an action would have on Spike, who was still trembling in her arms, clinging to her as if she was the only thing standing between him and horrible death.

 

*He probably thinks I am,* she reminded herself, and then swallowed hard with the grim realization, *He’s probably right. Just – not about that horrible death coming in the form of any random guy who shows up at the door. Namely Giles.*

 

Still not even acknowledging her Watcher, Buffy leaned down closer to Spike, running her fingers through his hair in a soothing motion as she whispered in his ear, her words barely over a breath – but she knew that he could clearly hear her.

 

“You’re safe,” she promised him. “I won’t let anyone hurt you. Do you believe me?”

 

Spike did not respond at all for a long moment; then, without raising his head from where it was buried in her blouse, he nodded weakly, a soft whimpering sound muffled against her.

 

“That’s good,” she reassured him softly. “That’s good, Sweetheart. Trust me…*trust* me, okay? I’m right here. Okay?”

 

Spike nodded again, a little more firmly.

 

He was trying so hard to be brave.

 

“Okay,” she went on softly. “Now I want you to look up, Spike. I want you to get up, and turn around and look at my friend – okay? He’s a friend. He’s not gonna hurt you.”

 

She felt the little shudder of apprehension that went through Spike at the gentle words that he no doubt still heard as an order; but he obeyed, reluctantly releasing his death grip on her blouse, lifting his head – though he still kept his eyes closed, as he slid off of the stool he was sitting on and stood beside her, facing Giles.

 

He lowered his head, opening his eyes but still unable to bring himself to look at the man in the doorway, trembling uncontrollably under Buffy’s protective arm around his pitifully slender waist.

 

Buffy herself finally ventured a look at her Watcher’s face.

 

“Hi, Giles,” she said meekly, a little grimace on her face as she took in his expression of shock and dismay.

 

Shock and dismay – gradually giving way to blind fury.

 

The Watcher’s eyes narrowed as he took a menacing step forward, all of his attention focused in on the vampire at his Slayer’s side, being embraced by her no less, and bearing a downcast expression of what Giles could only suppose to be the chagrin of being caught on his face.

 

“You foul, filthy creature!” the Englishman spat out angrily, and Spike flinched back against Buffy.

 

Giles, in his anger, did not notice how very unlike the Spike he had known was that gesture.

 

“I warned you to stay away from her, Spike, after the last time you tried to force your perverted affections on her -- not to attempt to worm your way into her affections again! She’s too kind – too generous to slay you as you deserved, but I warned you that I would not be -- and yet the moment I leave, you go back to your old deceptions, and manage to fool her into believing that you are more than the disgusting, evil thing that you are! Had I been able to find you when last I was in town, know that you would be dust already! I had thought that Buffy had come to her senses and ended her foolish affair with you, but then I come back to find that you have somehow managed to convince her to start it up again! Spike, this is it, this is the last straw!”

 

As he spoke, he closed the distance between himself and Spike, his voice rising, trembling with fury. Spike was cowering back against the counter behind them, his thin, ravaged back shaking violently as he pressed back against Buffy’s arm in an attempt to withdraw from the larger, and at the moment stronger, man.

 

He could not come anywhere close to understanding most of what the man was saying – but a few words stood out clearly, words he had heard so many times before, and always followed by vicious torment.

 

*Evil!*

 

*Disgusting!*

 

*Filthy thing!*

 

And the menace in the man’s voice spoke for itself.

 

Buffy, for her part, was too stunned by the rage her Watcher was displaying to move for a moment.

 

But *only* for a moment.

 

Her own eyes narrowed dangerously as she moved away from Spike, only to step firmly between him and Giles, her arms crossed firmly over her chest as she spoke in a sharp, commanding voice of barely restrained anger.

 

“Giles, *stop*!”

 

Giles took a step backward, but only because he had no choice as the Slayer stepped very deliberately into his space. His angry attention was necessarily diverted to her for the moment, instead of the cowering vampire behind her, as he protested indignantly,

 

“Buffy, I cannot believe that after the disaster of your first relationship with a vampire, you would take up with a second vampire – and one without the dubious benefit of a soul, for that matter! This is the same creature that chained you up in his crypt and threatened to allow you to be killed, to prove his ‘love’ for you! And now you’re…”

 

*Wait…*cowering*? Since when does Spike cower to anyone?*

 

Giles suddenly stopped, mid-rant, glancing around the determined Slayer at Spike, finally slowing down enough to take in the remnants of bruises on his face, the bandages that covered his bare torso, and appeared to continue under the loose-fitting jeans he wore – and most surprising of all, the absolutely terror-stricken demeanor of the beaten, wounded creature.

 

His view lasted only a moment, before Buffy pointedly stepped into his line of vision, meeting his eyes with a steely, warning gaze. The Watcher studied her expression for a long moment; it was impossible to miss the fiercely protective gleam in her bright, emerald eyes.

 

He was quiet for a moment, glancing down at the floor, composing himself before he spoke again, much more calmly, “Perhaps you had best explain to me what has happened in my absence.”

 

Buffy’s lips twisted upward into a sarcastic smile, as she nodded curtly. “Yeah, *perhaps* you should have asked that first, before you went into attack mode. We’ve had more than enough of that around here lately.”

 

This time, when Giles shifted to look past Buffy at Spike, she did not move into his way, though she did watch him carefully for any sign that he might strike out at the vulnerable vampire again, with words or blows.

 

“What happened to him?” Giles asked softly, a frown that seemed more curious than concerned creasing his brow as he studied Spike calmly, puzzled by the way he cringed back against the counter behind Buffy, his eyes tightly shut, clearly on the verge of panic.

 

Buffy was still very angry that Giles had managed to undo her careful efforts to calm Spike, with a few careless, cruel words – but she kept her voice calm and steady, for Spike’s benefit, as she replied slowly and clearly.

 

“Let’s go into the living room – the three of us – and I’ll explain everything to you.”

 

Giles stared at Spike for a moment longer, before meeting Buffy’s eyes again, nodding in cautious satisfaction, as he turned toward the living room.

 

“But if you talk to him like that again,” Buffy’s words of soft steel froze him in the kitchen doorway, “if you raise your hand or your voice to him even once – you will not be welcome in this house.”

 

Giles turned suddenly, his eyes wide and stunned at her words.

 

“Spike has been through a very traumatic ordeal – and it’s all I can do right now to convince him that I’m not going to take a switch to his legs until he can’t walk every time he opens his mouth – or turn him over to someone else who will. The last thing I need is someone – even you – coming in here trying to *help* me, and undoing all the progress we’ve made…which isn’t really much, yet,” Buffy explained, her tone holding a bit more patience now, but no less certainty.

 

Giles stared at her for a moment, still startled at her vehemence, and a bit troubled at where her priorities seemed to be placed – but accepting her terms with a solemn nod.

 

There was really nothing else he could do under the circumstances.

 

Buffy nodded her own satisfaction at his acceptance. “Just give us a minute. Go ahead into the living room, I’ll be right there,” she instructed quietly, waiting until Giles had gone on through the doorway to turn back toward Spike.

 

The terrified, confused vampire was cowering back against the counter, having gradually sunk lower and lower in an attempt to make himself as small and invisible as possible, until now he was crouched almost down to his knees, huddled against the counter, a soft, pleading whine reverberating in his throat. His eyes were closed tight, his arms raised up almost over his face – as if he wanted to shield his head from the blows he feared, but had learned better than to dare try to defend himself, even in such a small way.

 

“Spike,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears, as she knelt on the floor beside him, reaching out gentle hands to pull him toward her. “Come here, Baby…”

 

A visible tremor ran through him at the gentle touch, and though he did not open his eyes, he leaned forward suddenly, pressing his face against her lap in a subservient gesture of supplication. Two words fell from his lips in a trembling, desperate whisper, a litany of pure terror.

 

“Please, please, Buffy, please, Buffy, please…” he sobbed, no other words coming.

 

Tears streaked Buffy’s face, dropping down onto the back of his neck as she leaned down to embrace him, whispering, “It’s okay, Spike…it’s okay…come on, look at me, Sweetie…”

 

Spike immediately raised his wide, tearful eyes to focus on hers, trusting and obedient, despite his obvious fear.

 

“I told you I wasn’t going to let him hurt you – didn’t I?” she reminded him softly, holding his gaze with a leading nod.

 

He nodded slowly in response, understanding in his eyes – but there was still a vast uncertainty there. “H-hurt,” he whispered, glancing toward the living room. “Bad – hurt…”

 

Although several words were missing, Buffy could clearly understand what he was trying to say. He had guessed – and quite accurately, actually – that Giles wanted to hurt him, thought he was “bad” and wanted to punish him.

 

“I won’t let him,” she assured him softly. “I won’t, Spike. You’re safe with me. Okay?”

 

Spike seemed to consider her words for a moment, studying the silent promise in her eyes – before his jaw set with a courageous determination, and he nodded firmly. “S-safe,” he whispered, nodding. “Buffy – safe…”

 

Fresh tears sprang to the Slayer’s eyes, and she nodded in agreement as she ran her hand down his cheek in a gesture of affection – and for once, he did not flinch or pull away, even for a moment, choosing instead to lean into the caress, closing his eyes with a sort of yearning in his expression, as he relished the gentle touch – so rare and beautiful to him still.

 

“So – will you come in the living room with me?” Buffy asked him cautiously, as she rose to her feet, holding out her hands to help him up as well.

 

He was pitifully easy to pull to his feet, as he glanced anxiously toward the living room, and then back into her eyes – and nodded firmly. “Y-yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Buffy…”

 

The beaming smile she gave him was as encouraging as anything she had said to him, as she put her arm around him and started toward the living room, praising him quietly, “Very good, Spike – you’re learning so fast! I’m very proud of you, Spike!”

 

Giles was seated in the armchair across from the sofa, watching them with solemn eyes as they entered – much closer to each other than he liked – and sat down on the couch together, Buffy’s arm still a reassuring presence around Spike’s shoulders, as he instinctively shrank in closer to her. As hard as he was trying to be brave, to trust her, he could not help being just a little bit afraid of this angry man who had yelled at him and threatened him.

 

The Watcher’s anger quickly evaporated into his curiosity, as he took in Spike’s vastly changed manner once more.

 

“He hardly seems the same creature, Buffy,” he remarked quietly. “What happened?”

 

“He’s not,” she informed him, keeping her tone soft and mild, in sharp contrast to what she actually felt. She did not want to further upset Spike with her tone. She took a deep breath before answering Giles’ question, telling him all that she knew about what had happened to Spike, the condition he had been in when she had found him.

 

As she spoke, the anger and condemnation seemed to fade from her Watcher’s eyes, replaced with a grudging understanding. It was still apparent from the guarded expression on his face that he was not quite sure she was doing the right thing – but he at least understood *why* she was doing it.

 

Mingled with the concern in his eyes – all for Buffy, she was sure, not for the injured vampire beside her – was a light of curiosity, a certain fascination with the condition of the creature. It was obvious that Giles had never seen a vampire with brain damage before, and was very interested in learning more about the effects it might have had on him.

 

She supposed it was just part of being a Watcher, that made him so clinical and unfeeling at times – but at the moment, it made her furious.

 

“So – he doesn’t remember anything?” he asked, his eyes focused in on Spike as he addressed his question to Buffy.

 

Spike was clearly uncomfortable under the scrutiny of his stare, as he couldn’t seem to stay still beside Buffy, shifting and looking around the room with darting eyes that desperately avoided the piercing blue gaze focused on him.

 

“I really don’t know how much he remembers,” Buffy said shortly. “And we won’t, until he gets to where he can talk a little more. But he’s learning already – getting a little better every day – so it shouldn’t be long.” She paused, waiting for Giles to look away from Spike and meet her eyes before she added firmly, “But if he talks to anyone but me about what happened – it will be his choice. I’m not going to have you treating him like – like some kind of science experiment.”

 

Giles looked a bit offended by her words, as he protested quietly, “Really, Buffy, I don’t mean any harm to him. But surely you must understand that such information could be very useful to the Council, and the Slayers. The effects of a gunshot on a vampire…”

 

“…are much less effective and less humane than a good old-fashioned stake to the heart,” she finished for him, a warning flashing in her eyes. “Giles – I know you don’t approve. I know you think he’s not – not even a person – not worth saving. But – you don’t know what it was like.”

 

She hesitated, looking down and getting a rein on her emotions before going on – and Giles was quiet, waiting for her to go on.

 

“Last year – it was so – so hard. No one understood. No one – except Spike. And you can say all you want that he’s a monster and he doesn’t deserve my help – but he’s the one who was there for me, when no one else was. He’s the one who looked out for me, and let me – let me just be me. Even when that meant letting me be as bad a monster as he ever was – letting me beat the crap out of him, and never lifting a finger against me.”

 

She met her Watcher’s eyes, giving him a moment for the shock of that statement to sink in. “Is that the way a monster would respond if he was being beaten on? If he *could* defend himself against me – and he could!”

 

Giles had no answer for that, his eyes widening as he simply struggled to make that new information mesh with his own world view.

 

“Long before that, Giles – he took torture. For me and Dawn. He fought with us – even when I was – gone. I think the least he deserves is my help – my protection – now when he’s more defenseless, and less responsible for his past crimes, than ever before.”

 

Giles still did not respond at all, his eyes intent and focused on some point just past her, his brow furrowed in a pensive frown.

 

“I know maybe you don’t want to help me with this – and I can understand that. But – don’t try to stop me. And don’t get in the way. You know you are like a father to me, Giles – but right now, Spike is my priority.”

 

Buffy finally said all she had to say, and fell silent, waiting for some response from her Watcher. After a long pause – she got it.

 

“I’m not quite sure that he should be, Buffy,” he told her frankly. “Though I must say I understand why you feel the way you do. And honestly, Spike is by no means *my* priority.” He paused, before going on slowly, almost reluctantly, “However – I am willing to help you, in any capacity you want me to, my dear. Because although Spike is not my priority -- *you* most certainly are, and always will be.”

 

Buffy felt a certain warmth and reassurance flood through her at the gentle sincerity she heard in Giles’ voice, as well as at his honesty. She knew that although he might have his doubts about what she was doing, he would do his best to support her in any way that he could – insofar as he could do so without compromising his own integrity.

 

And she could ask for nothing more.


	24. Chapter 24

“You could have at least told me you were going to call him.” “You would have told me not to.” Anya’s simple, matter-of-fact explanation put a momentary end to the discussion – that, and the customer who had just approached the counter with an armload of candles and incense. The vengeance demon put on her brightest smile and explained to the customer how his items were to be used – and how they were most definitely *not* supposed to be used – and happily took his money. When the customer had been successfully serviced and satisfied, and was on his way out the door, Anya turned her attention back to the Slayer, who was still standing by the counter with her arms crossed over her chest, giving Anya a death glare… …which was not exactly a comforting look for a vengeance demon to be getting from a Slayer. “I just thought he might be able to help you. I thought he probably wouldn’t, if he knew why I’d called him,” she explained with a careless shrug. “Well, you’re right about that, anyway!” Buffy retorted, leaning back against the counter with a sigh. “I just wish he’d had a *little* warning – or I had, for that matter – or something, Anya. He screamed at Spike before I could explain anything to him. He was terrified.” “Keyword ‘was’,” Anya pointed out; she had already heard this part of the story once. “At least it gave you the chance to prove to Spike that you really meant what you’ve been telling him – right? That he’s safe with you and you’re not gonna let anybody hurt him?” Buffy gave her a dark, dubious look for a long moment – before relenting with a sigh. “Yes, it did,” she admitted. “So it turned out all right in the end,” Anya concluded, satisfaction in her tone. “We are no where even remotely close to the end,” Buffy informed her with a weary sigh of resignation. Anya finally stopped whatever it was she was doing in the cash register for a moment, turning her full attention on the Slayer with genuine sympathy in her eyes. “Giles loves you, Buffy,” she reminded her. “He’ll do anything he can to help you. And you have to admit – you *do* need the help.” “I’ve got Dawn – and you – and heck, even Angel if I want his help – which I’m still not really sure if I do or not,” Buffy frowned thoughtfully, then shook her head and looked back up at Anya. “I just don’t see any reason for you to have called Giles all the way from England to come here and help someone he pretty much hates…” “He doesn’t hate you, Buffy…” “*Spike*, Anya!” Buffy clarified, irritation in her voice. “Giles hates Spike – or at least, he did, before he found out there’s not much of what he hated left in him right now. Yes, he says he wants to help me, but I’m just not so sure how much he can do when – when his heart’s not really in the cause, you know?” Anya was quiet for a moment, her eyes back on the cash register, before she closed it completely, and leaned on the counter, looking Buffy in the eye. “Dawn wants to help – but she’s just a child, Buffy. There’s only so much she can take. And I want to help you, but the truth is -- my expertise is more in dealing out this kind of suffering than in knowing how to heal it. Honestly, Buffy -- Angel and Giles are probably going to be able to help you more than anyone -- at least until you find out who did this." Anya stood up straight again, smiling brightly as another customer approached the register. "Then," she continued to Buffy in a calm, casual tone of voice, as if they had been discussing something much less crucial than blood vengeance, "I'm your girl." Buffy waited until the customer had left, her questions brewing in her mind the entire time, to look up at Anya with a puzzled frown. "Can't you do it anyway?" she asked her. "Even before I know who did it? Like, can't I wish for their crimes to be revealed, and then for them to have to pay for them, or something like that, and then -- *make* them pay for them? You wouldn’t even have to do the vengeance yourself – just tell me who needs vengeancing.” “Vengeancing? Is that a word?” Anya asked, one eyebrow raised dubiously. “I don’t know. I don’t care. Can you do it?” “No,” Anya answered simply, sorting through the bills in the stack she had just added to in the register. “I can’t just exact vengeance on someone without knowing who they are. It’s kind of a legal protective clause that D’Hoffryn writes into all of our contracts. You know, so that if someone comes up to me and says, ‘I wish for the person who ruined my life to have their eyeballs rot out of their skull, I don’t accidentally – you know – put my own eyes out,” she shrugged with a sheepish smile. “I can only grant a wish if it’s specifically vengeance – and I can only do vengeance if I know who the target is.” She paused, then added with a grim little smile, “But let me know when you find out who it is. I’d love to take some creative liberties with this one!” “I’d love to let you,” Buffy replied without hesitation. “Whoever did this to Spike needs to pay – and they’re *going* to pay!” Anya gave her a sharp look of alarm, unnoticed by the Slayer, whose eyes were focused on the wall across from her, and whose thoughts were consumed with avenging what had been done to her vampire lover. The vengeance demon wisely decided not to bring up the issue, not just now when it was still so fresh and strong in the Slayer’s emotions. But as she closed the register and moved away from the counter to help a beckoning customer, she muttered to herself under her breath, “Don’t know what she thinks she needs *me* for – I think the Slayer’s got this vengeance gig down already. She better be careful – or she just might get herself recruited!” ************************************ Spike could not quite place the new emotion that was growing in his fragile heart, playing teasingly about the edges of his mind, elusive and nameless and barely daring to even exist – yet – but if he could have remembered the word for what he was beginning to feel, it would have been…*happy*. The house was empty that morning when he woke up, except for him and Dawn. He would have panicked at not seeing Buffy – until he had awakened enough to become aware of the soft, slender arm draped across his waist…and the sleeping teenage girl it was attached to. He had taken a moment to regroup, to get his bearings – and had then settled back down into the bed to sleep for a couple more hours, content that he would be safe while he did so. Dawn was not exactly Buffy – but she was the next best thing. When next he had awakened, it had been to a gentle nudging on his shoulder, and a kind voice calling his name repeatedly. A little louder than he would have liked – but still kind. Almost immediately, he had looked at her, asking his question in the only way he knew how, his eyes anxious and searching as he said simply, “Buffy?” Dawn’s smile had almost seemed a little sad for just an instant, before she had replied, “She’s at work. She has to – she’s gonna be out for a little while today. It’s just us!” Spike had frowned, puzzled, and frustrated with himself for once again having very little idea what she was trying to tell him. He understood from her words that the two of them would be alone for a while today – but that was all. As for “work”, he had no idea what the word meant. *So stupid,* the words of his tormentor echoed in his mind, as he thought again how true the words had been. *Don’t know anything – so stupid…* He and Dawn had gone downstairs, where she had fixed him breakfast. He found himself fascinated – and a little awed – by her quick, natural movements as she put the blood in the heating machine, pushed several buttons in rapid succession, and a few moments later, took out a perfectly heated mug of breakfast for him. When she saw him watching her, Spike had quickly looked away, feeling presumptuous in staring at her – but Dawn had not been in the least upset. In fact, she had motioned him over to join her at the strange machine, and had actually gone so far as to show him how to use it! He had shaken his head, looking down a bit bashfully, not quite sure how to tell her that there was no way he could possibly comprehend it. He knew that he was very stupid – not anywhere near as smart and capable as she and Buffy were. He knew, by the way the words seemed to come so easily to him, while he struggled just to understand and speak the few that he could. But Dawn had pressed him, insisting that he watch her again, and then try to do as she had done. A sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, sure that he was about to disappoint her, Spike had done his best to imitate her actions with a second mug of blood – and to his amazement, it had come out perfectly! It had been a wonderful start to his lessons for the day. Dawn would point out various items in the house and say the name for them, and then tell him to try to say them himself. It was easy enough to repeat after her, to say what she had just said only moments before, but Spike was certain that he would never remember it all later. Until she went over every last one of them again – and he *did* remember. “What’s this, Spike?” she asked him with an encouraging smile, patting the large piece of furniture they were seated at. “Table,” he replied slowly and carefully, struggling a bit with the sound on the end, but getting the word out, and looking up at her hopefully for her reaction. Her reaction was to be absolutely thrilled. “Good!” she exulted. “Spike, you are so smart!” He looked away from her, his smile fading slightly with his uncertainty, as he shook his head a bit bashfully. “No,” he replied softly. “Yes, you are!” Dawn insisted. “Look how fast you’re getting all this! How quickly you’re learning! Buffy is going to be so proud of you when she gets home!” Spike looked up at her, his eyes widening with excited interest, his smile slowly spreading as he considered what she had said. A warm, comfortable sort of feeling spread through his stomach at the thought of pleasing her – of Buffy coming home from wherever she had gone to find out how much he had learned. And suddenly – he could not learn fast enough. He immediately rose from the chair he was seated in and went to the device she had used to heat his blood. Patting the top of it awkwardly, he looked at Dawn and asked slowly but very clearly, “What’s…this?” echoing the question she had posed to him over and over during their session. Dawn’s eyes lit up with pleased surprise at his initiative and anxious desire to learn – but then widened slightly as she took a deep breath and said, “Spike – that’s a tough one – okay? Microwave – it’s a microwave.” Spike looked away from her, frowning thoughtfully at the interesting contraption with the difficult name – the difficult name that a few seconds later, he managed to say, if not perfectly, definitely recognizably. Dawn’s elated response was all the encouragement he needed to go rushing from the kitchen into the next room. Dawn hurriedly followed him, momentarily alarmed – until she found him in the living room, asking his same question about the television set. “This one’s harder,” she warned him gently. But it might as well have been the simplest word ever, for the relative ease with which Spike managed it. He tore through the room from one spot to another, rapid fire questions seeking out the answers for everything he could lay his hands on – and then making another trip around the room, repeating what she had taught him, his wide blue eyes seeking out hers for affirmation that he had spoken the right answers. Every single time – he had. “Spike – you’re a genius, you know that?” Dawn laughed as she took his hands and pulled him down on the couch beside her, wanting a few moments to catch her breath from the intensive learning session they had just had. Spike just tilted his head to the side slightly, frowning in confusion. “Smart,” she clarified. “You’re very smart, Spike.” This time, he did not try to deny it. His smile was still a bit shy, and he tucked his head awkwardly at her praise – but he knew that she was telling the truth, not just trying to make him feel better. He could not remember the last time he had felt this happy – had felt any emotion, in fact, that was not tinged with the terror of knowing that at any moment, he was going to do some bad thing to earn pain. He settled back on the couch beside her as she reached for the remote control to the television, thinking that this must be what it felt like to do something *good* for a change. The knock at the door shattered that fragile security in an instant – and Spike was immediately, automatically, trembling as he pulled back against the far corner of the couch, his eyes focused in terror on the door. “It’s okay,” Dawn said softly, putting her hand to his cheek to turn his face to meet her eyes. “It’s okay, Spike. I’m gonna see who that is, okay? It’s all right. You’re safe – okay?” Spike nodded, only because he knew that it was the response she wanted – but he could feel the black, consuming terror filling him up again, as he huddled back into the corner of the sofa, one single thought filling his mind. *Buffy’s not here…Buffy’s not here…he can hurt us…Buffy’s not here…* When Dawn opened the door, he recognized a slightly familiar scent – the scent of the man Buffy had talked to the night before…the man who had wanted to hurt him. But – he *hadn’t* hurt him. Giles had stepped cautiously into the living room, regarding him for a moment without raising his voice or moving toward him at all – and Spike had found some of his fears abating with the realization that this man did not seem inclined to hurt him just at the moment. He felt a swell of pride for his beautiful protector, his wonderful Buffy who had rescued him, as his mind reached the only logical conclusion for how he could be in the presence of someone he knew wanted to hurt him, and yet not be in pain. *He must be afraid of Buffy – she told him not to hurt me.*  
  
That comforting thought gave him the courage to at least look up at the man, though he could not quite hold the piercing sapphire gaze that was, yet again, studying him -- though not unkindly.  
  
Dawn stood uncertainly between the two. Buffy had told her about Giles' previous visit, so she was not really afraid that he might try to hurt Spike, but she knew that any sudden, unexpected move on his part might terrify the vampire, and she wanted to do everything she could to make sure that Spike felt safe.  
  
At the look in Spike's expressive eyes, both fearful and brave at the same time, the guarded interest in Giles' eyes seemed to soften a bit. After a moment, he spoke softly.  
  
"Hello, Spike."  
  
Spike just stared at him, recognizing his name, but not the other word, and unsure how to respond.  
  
"He really has been brain damaged, hasn't he?" the Watcher observed, though there was no cruelty in his voice -- just shock, at seeing Spike so different from how he remembered him. He had seen it before, a day ago -- but it was no less stunning the second time.  
  
Defensively, Dawn hurried to inform him, "Yes -- but he's not stupid, Giles. He's learning a lot! Just today he's learned so many new words...Spike!" She turned to him expectantly, determination in her eyes to prove Spike's ability to Giles. "What's that?" She pointed at the television.  
  
Dutifully Spike responded, stating the word very clearly and precisely.  
  
"Dear Lord," Giles said under his breath, his eyebrows raised in surprise.  
  
"See?" Dawn retorted, gratified, and pointed out the couch, the floor, and several other items, all of which Spike correctly identified. "Isn't that awesome?" she asked Giles, giving him a pointed look that clearly said that the wrong answer just might result in his slow, painful death.  
  
"It's bloody dreadful's what it is," the Watcher replied, a quiet indignation in his voice, though to his credit, he was careful to keep it calm and nonthreatening.  
  
"What?" Dawn's indignation matched his. "How can you say that?"  
  
"Because vampire or no, he's bloody English, Dawn! And you and Buffy've got him butchering the language as horribly as you do!" He heaved a weary sigh as he sat down slowly on the opposite end of the couch, taking in the wary, but calm, vampire with appaising eyes as he spoke again.  
  
"I believe I may have found the way in which I can help in this situation."  
  
Dawn still seemed a bit puzzled by his last statement, frowning uncertainly.  
  
"Well, if he's going to learn to speak English," Giles explained with mild exasperation, and a solemn resignation, "he'd best learn it from someone who's actually -- well, *English*!"


	25. Chapter 25

When she walked through the front door that evening at the end of her shift, Buffy was very surprised by the unexpected sight that met her eyes.

 

Giles was seated on the sofa, turned slightly toward Spike, who was seated on the other end of the sofa, expectant blue eyes focused on the to-all-appearances older man. The fact that Giles wore an encouraging smile on his face as he looked at the vampire took Buffy by surprise – but even more startling was the fact that Spike did not seem to be afraid.

 

Of course, that probably had a great deal to do with her little sister, seated comfortably on the floor between the sofa and the coffee table, one arm resting casually across Spike’s knees – the easy touch obviously a great comfort to him. He was watching Giles warily, but without a trace of the utter terror with which he had viewed the man the day before – but his hand was holding tightly to the smaller hand of the girl beside him, as if to keep her there, between him and Giles.

 

Of course – Giles had made no move to touch him, and Spike certainly did not seem inclined to get any closer to him. The way he kept glancing anxiously toward Dawn every few seconds made Buffy think that if the younger girl had not been there, he probably could not have stayed in the same room with the Watcher.

 

But Dawn *was* there – and for the moment, Spike seemed to be okay.

 

When Buffy stepped into the living room, Spike looked up at her in surprise. She felt a moment of jealousy that he had been so caught up in whatever was going on that he had not noticed her come in – as brief and fleeting as it was childish and unreasonable – that instantly faded when his eyes lit up at the sight of her.

 

Dawn grinned up at her sister with amused anticipation as she nudged Spike’s leg and prompted in a stage whisper, “Go on – say it!”

 

Buffy’s slow, even progress toward the vampire was halted in stunned pleasure, at the two simple words he spoke next – so very ordinary and easy for anyone else to say, but such a tremendous step of progress for Spike.

 

“Hello, Buffy.”

 

Almost against her will – definitely against her better judgment – Buffy savored the little tremor that ran through her stomach, and lower, at the sound of that low, deep voice – so familiar, and yet so changed from the voice she remembered. Spike spoke with a certain soft shyness that was not exactly new to him. She had heard him say the same exact words in exactly the same way, many times before – though then, the fear and uncertainty in his voice had been more for his fragile heart than for his physical safety.

 

Perhaps it still was.

 

Buffy’s eyes welled with tears as her mind filled with the unbidden image of Spike as he had been a year ago, looking a her with those same vulnerable, pleading eyes, desperate for her acceptance, her approval – just to have his feelings for her acknowledged as being as real and deep and lasting as they were.

 

And she had ruthlessly denied him even that.

 

She brought an encouraging smile to her face now, through her tears, for Spike’s sake, as she sat down on the couch between Spike and Giles, putting her arm around him and pulling him gently against her side, taking his free hand in hers as she replied softly, “Hello, Spike. That’s so good, Sweetie – I’m so proud of you.”

 

“Buffy, you should hear all the words he’s learned today; he’s talking so much better now!” Dawn put in happily. “And Giles is going to help us!”

 

Buffy looked in expectant surprise at her Watcher – who just cleared his throat and looked away with a slightly sheepish smile – before returning her questioning gaze to her sister.

 

“He’s going to make sure that as Spike learns to talk English again, it’ll actually be -- *English*, you know? That he’ll still sound like Spike!” Dawn continued, a wide smile of satisfaction on her face.

 

Buffy looked back at Giles, her eyes widening, as he just continued to avoid eye contact, a reluctant smile of mild embarrassment on his face. “Really?’ she said, obviously pleased. “That’s great!” She paused before quirking a slightly suspicious eyebrow at him. “What brought on this sudden change of heart?”

 

“I already told you I would help in any way you needed me to, Buffy!” Giles reminded her indignantly, meeting her eyes at last. “I’d hardly call it a change of heart.”

 

When Buffy said nothing, just continued looking at him with a slowly widening smirk, he went on in a tone of defensive exasperation, “Well, he *is* British, Buffy. We can hardly have him speaking the mangled version of American English that you two speak, now can we?”

 

“No – it’s much better if he talks just like *you*!” Buffy retorted, sticking her tongue out at her Watcher in an impulsive display of good-natured immaturity.

 

“Close enough,” Dawn pointed out with a shrug. “Giles talks more like Spike used to than we do, that’s for sure.”

 

Buffy silently nodded her acceptance of the situation, agreeing that a British accent -- *any* British accent – would certainly suit Spike better than the California girl speech that she and Dawn had both adopted.

 

Spike, for his part, seemed a bit lost by the whole conversation, glancing uncertainly between the three of them, a slight, puzzled frown creasing his brow.

 

“So,” she said with an expectant, teasing wink as she turned her attention back to him and squeezed his hand gently, “why don’t you show me what you’ve learned while I was gone?”

 

A bit shyly, Spike went through the rather impressive list of items he was now able to identify to Buffy, whose lavish, enthusiastic praise brought a beaming smile to his face. He tucked his head slightly, a bit uncomfortable with the enigma of receiving affection and affirmation, when he had been led to believe for so long that those were things he would never deserve, never receive from anyone.

 

“Things are easy for him to learn,” Dawn remarked thoughtfully after a few minutes. “But – it might be a little tougher for him to get *ideas* -- verbs and stuff, you know?”

 

“He’s smart,” Buffy assured her, thrilling at the way his brilliant blue eyes softened with grateful adoration at her words. She raised a hand to tenderly run through his hair, as she added, “He’ll get it – he’s a very quick learner.”

 

The ring of the doorbell drew her attention away from him for a moment, but she could feel his body tense under her arm at the sound, the sound he had come to associate with new people coming onto the scene.

 

And as much progress as he had made, Spike was not quite comfortable with new people just yet.

 

“It’s okay,” she reassured him gently, squeezing his hand and his shoulder protectively, as she watched Dawn go toward the door. “Nothing and no one’s gonna hurt you, remember? I’m gonna keep you safe – right?”

 

Buffy was pleased to see that Spike obviously understood every bit of what she had said this time, and she smiled her approval as his jaw set with determination, and he nodded slowly, making a conscious decision to accept her promise at face value. She could read his emotions easily in his expressive sapphire gaze.

 

Buffy had kept her word to keep him safe so far – so he would trust her to do it again.

 

“Good boy,” she whispered tenderly, taking the opportunity of the moment when Giles and Dawn were both focused toward the front door to press a soft kiss to his forehead, marveling at the warmth of affection that flooded her for him as she did.

 

*Stupid Buffy,* she chided herself silently, *why is it so easy when no one’s looking, but if you’re not alone with him…*

 

Her thoughts were cut off in an instant, as wide, soft blue eyes focused on hers in a stunning mixture of startled pleasure, and awe, that she had deigned to touch him in such a way. There was something akin to worship in his gaze, as a tentative, vulnerable smile began to cross his lips, and he instinctively leaned in closer to her, his eyes focusing on her lips – and then suddenly looking back up at her, breathtaking blue through thick, lush lashes.

 

The sudden tightening she felt low in her abdomen caught her off guard, stealing her breath, as the desire she had been consciously holding at bay began to quicken within her again. Even as she told herself she had to pull away – had to stop before she did something she might regret – she felt her body leaning slightly toward him, in response to his own forward motion.

 

His sudden slight wince, and downward glance to their joined hands in his lap, drew her attention – mercifully – out of the drowning depths of his eyes, and she looked down to see that unknowingly, she was tightly clenching his hand in hers – almost painfully tight.

 

She immediately loosened her grip, without taking her hand away completely, as she looked back up at him with an apologetic smile.

 

“Spike,” she whispered, shaking her head slightly – falling silent as she realized that she had no idea how to explain to him what had just happened between them…or if it even needed explanation.

 

There were so many things that he could not remember, yet still seemed to sense on a basic, instinctive level. He could still read her like an open book; she realized that there was a good chance he already knew exactly what she was feeling, without any attempt on her part at useless words.

 

The entire exchange had taken place in a few brief moments, that had seemed to last a lifetime – but the power of the moment was shattered in an instant, swallowed up in an entirely different, more sinister sort of intensity, as Dawn opened the front door.

 

Immediately, Spike froze completely, his eyes widening and darting toward the doorway.

 

“What is it?” she asked him softly, glancing toward the doorway as a familiar figure stepped inside, then back at Spike, concern in her eyes. “What’s the matter, Sweetie?”

 

Spike’s eyes shot to hers, full of panic, and he shook his head frantically, scrambling back away from her against the far end of the couch, his arms wrapped around his knees, his eyes darting wildly about, before he lowered his head to rest on his knees, shaking uncontrollably.

 

“Spike – Honey,” she urgently tried to gain his attention, rising to her knees on the sofa and scooting towards him, taking his arms and trying to get him to look up at her. “What’s the matter, Sweetheart? It’s okay – he’s my friend. He’s not going to hurt you, Baby, I promise! He’s my friend!”

 

His wild, panicked eyes shot up to hers – and she lost her breath at the look of shock in his eyes.

 

No – it was more than shock.

 

It was -- *betrayal*.

 

“No,” he whispered pleadingly, shaking his head and drawing back away from her. “Please – no – please – Buffy, no…”

 

His desperation was clear in his soft, trembling voice, as he begged her, pleaded with her, for safety and protection that he could feel swiftly slipping away from him with the unexpected, unprepared-for presence of the person in the doorway – the person that his protector had just declared to be her *friend*.

 

“It’s okay,” she insisted softly, reaching a hand out to touch his cheek in a gentle, soothing gesture. “I promise, Spike, it’s okay…” She paused, a firm hand under his chin tilting his head up to meet her determined gaze. “You were afraid when Giles came, right? But I told you he wasn’t going to hurt you – and he didn’t,” she reminded him. “This is just the same. You just have to learn, Spike, not every stranger that you meet wants to treat you like whoever did this to you.”

 

Spike shook his head desperately, in his panic unable to find words to even attempt to explain the reason for it. And in his mind, as he tried desperately to make sense of the terrified ramblings echoing over and over, one thought was clear.

 

This was *not* just the same. This was different from Giles – in a way that he could not begin to make her understand, in his current panicked, incoherent state.

 

“Please,” he gasped for breath, barely able to get the words out. “B-Buffy, please – please, please, n-no…” he sobbed, as she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her reassuringly.

 

“It’s okay, Spike,” she promised him softly, her lips against his ear. “I’m going to protect you…I promise, okay?”

 

A sense of relief flooded over him, and he nodded against her shoulder, tears streaking his face, trembling uncontrollably with the release of knowing that somehow, she understood – that she would not let this happen.

 

Except – she did.

 

Spike’s heart sank in terror and disbelieving despair – as the Slayer gently disentangled herself from him, standing and turning toward his tormentor, now standing in the doorway…

 

…and, calmly smiling, invited him inside.


	26. Chapter 26

As Buffy casually beckoned the man who had spent the last few months torturing him closer to where he huddled on the couch, Spike desperately pressed back as hard as he could against the upholstery behind him, sobbing softly, wishing that he could just disappear, to somewhere far away, where the young man now staring at him with veiled menace would never find him.

 

But he had already found him.

 

He was here – in the one place where Spike had just begun to feel safe.

 

And Buffy – Buffy *wanted* him here.

 

“Spike – Spike, it’s okay!” Dawn’s urgent voice insisted, and Spike felt her arms slide around him as she came to sit beside him on the couch. “It’s all right, he’s okay – he won’t hurt you…”

 

Spike raised wide, panicked eyes to hers in incredulous disbelief, shaking his head slightly. How could she possibly say that? How could she think that it was *safe* to have this man here, after what he had done to him? But as he studied the young, innocent face of the girl who had already come to mean so much to him, Spike suddenly saw the truth in her crystal blue eyes.

 

She didn’t know.

 

The idea had not even crossed his mind. He had just assumed that of *course* Buffy and Dawn knew who had done this to him; it seemed that they knew *everything* he knew, and so much that he did not. In their wisdom, through the awestruck eyes with which he viewed them, he could not imagine that there was any truth that was hidden from Dawn – and Buffy.

 

Spike raised his eyes to the Slayer’s face – calm and friendly and inviting, as she met the eyes of his former captor – and suddenly, it all made sense.

 

They trusted this man – thought he was safe – because they *did not know* what he had done – that this was the person who had hurt him so badly.

 

But as Spike watched the easy manner that Buffy had with the man, he found himself wondering with a sinking heart, if it would matter at all. This was Buffy’s friend – and he had been taught over and over that he was nothing more than a monster, an animal. How could she possibly take his side over the side of someone that she cared about, someone she was close to?

 

Something deep within him was insisting that he had to try to make her understand – but he wasn’t sure if he had the courage. If he told her…and she took the side of his abuser – it would *kill* him. There was no way that he could stand the pain, the rejection, if that were to happen.

 

A part of him thought it would be better to never even know.

 

“Spike?” Dawn whispered, trying to catch his gaze again – but he was looking past her, toward Buffy, who was standing on the other side of the coffee table, smiling at the young man – who had just come into Spike’s line of vision.

 

Dark, penetrating eyes full of barely concealed malice met his – and Spike instantly dropped his gaze. True, he had never seen those eyes before, even in his nightmares – had never seen the face of his attacker clearly, until this day.

 

But the scent – the voice – were terrifyingly familiar; and the hatred in those eyes was unmistakable.

 

“B-Buffy,” he whispered, his voice little more than a soft breath, as he gasped for air that he did not really need, fighting off the panic of knowing that his enemy was so very near – near enough to reach out and touch him if he wanted to.

 

And he *knew* that he wanted to – could feel the malicious desire rolling off of the young man in waves – could see his hands at his sides twitching slightly in anticipation of what he would do when he managed to get his hand on Spike again.

 

Spike swallowed back a sob of anguished terror. He *had* to try – he *had* to!

 

“Buffy – please,” he whispered in a trembling, desperate voice. “Please – please don’t…”

 

Buffy turned her concerned eyes on him again, motioning for her friend to stay where he was as she moved around the coffee table and knelt down on the floor in front of Spike, taking his hands gently in hers and pulling them away from his tear-streaked face.

 

He wished that she wouldn’t; he felt so terribly vulnerable, exposed, helpless before the cruel scrutiny of his oppressor’s eyes.

 

“Spike – Sweetie, it’s all right – I’m right here. What is it, Sweetie? Why are you so scared?” Buffy softly pressed him, trying to calm him, a frown creasing her brow as she obviously wondered what could possibly have him this upset, so much more frightened than he had been even when Giles had threatened him the day before.

 

She released one of his hands – which he promptly raised to his eyes, in an attempt to shield himself from the piercing, menacing gaze of his enemy – and reached up to gently but firmly redirect his gaze from the man across from them, back up to her face…

 

…but not before Spike saw him put one finger to his lips in a gesture he had already learned from Dawn – a gesture that was a silent instruction to keep his mouth shut. Dawn and Giles were both focused on Spike as well; so it was that none of them noticed the subtle, silent movement of the young man’s hand.

 

But Spike could not help but notice it. The menace in those dark eyes was clear, as the young man slightly, almost imperceptibly, shook his head in a warning way. It could not have been more obvious; without saying a word, he was delivering a powerful threat to the traumatized, broken vampire.

 

*Open your mouth one more time, you little nothing, and I’ll rip that tongue of yours right out of it! Do you understand me?*

 

Spike shuddered under the weight of powerful memories of past torments – past torments that could be present again, if he made the wrong choice. His panicked gaze met Buffy’s searching, worried eyes, in a moment of desperate indecision.

 

She was right there in front of him, giving him her undivided attention, patiently waiting for him to calm down enough to tell her what was wrong – and he knew that he *could* tell her. Even if he was not able to find all the words, all it would take was a few – a simple pointed finger, indicating the man who had broken him.

 

Except – that man was right there, in front of him, glaring at him with a frightening intensity, behind the backs of the attentive little group focused on Spike.

 

And that man was Buffy’s *friend*.

 

Spike knew very well what that word meant; it was another new thing that Dawn had taught him. “Friend” was what Dawn was to him – what *Buffy* was to him.

 

And this man was that to *Buffy*.

 

He lowered his eyes in despair, full of fresh tears, shaking his head in miserable silence. He could not tell her – not now, with this man right here, watching him, ready to punish him if he disobeyed and opened his mouth. He wanted to hurt him; the only thing holding him back was the fact that Buffy was protecting him.

 

For now.

 

Because she had no idea who it was that had hurt him.

 

If Buffy knew that the one who had done so much damage to him was her own friend – would she still protect Spike from him? Or would she apologize to her friend for her mistake, and turn him back over to him, to be punished for daring to hope for freedom and safety?

 

Perhaps she would.

 

Perhaps she would not.

 

But it was not a chance Spike was prepared to take.

 

“Spike?” Buffy whispered tenderly, urging him with a gentle hand to look back up at her – but he could not quite bring himself to meet her eyes.

 

He allowed her to tilt his head back up toward her face, but kept his own face turned slightly away, his eyes closed, swallowing back a fresh sob of anguished despair, just shaking his head slightly in refusal to speak.

 

“Spike? Come on, Sweetheart, talk to me!” she pushed him, a slight note of impatience entering her voice, that was not unkind, but spoke of her frustration at not being able to figure out what was wrong.

 

“Maybe I should go,” the young man spoke up – and Buffy turned her eyes to look at him, just in time to miss the flinch of Spike’s shaking shoulders at the sound of his voice. “I mean – this is obviously upsetting him…is he scared of everybody like this – or is it just me?” The anxious, apologetic sound of his voice was very convincing.

 

*Oh, he’s good – very, very good…* Spike realized, his heart sinking lower in his chest. *She’ll never believe me – never…*

 

“It’s pretty much everybody,” Buffy assured him, frowning as she looked back at Spike. “At least – all guys, apparently. It must have been a guy that did this to him. But – this seems different. He’s really freaked out. I – I don’t get it.”

 

*Please, please see it!* Spike thought desperately, his eyes still tightly shut against the panic of the situation he had found himself in. *Please see it, and *care*, Buffy – please!*

 

But he knew already that she would not. Even if her friendship with this person would not prevent her from keeping her promise to protect him – it *did* prevent her from seeing the truth about her friend. It was obvious that she simply could not even conceive of the idea that someone so close to her could have done such a terrible thing.

 

“I’ll go,” the young man repeated decisively. “I don’t wanna – make this harder for you guys. I mean – you know I’m not all about this whole thing, anyway, but – if this is what you need to do, Buffy – I don’t wanna make him, like – regress, or something, ya know? I’ll just – go on, and you just – call me when it’s okay for me to come over again. Like, in a few weeks, or…”

 

“No,” Buffy said firmly, taking a deep breath as she turned her eyes back to Spike – full of compassion, but determination as well. “No, you’re a friend of this family, and I’m not going to have you basically kicked out over this – even if it’s temporary. Spike needs to adjust to normal life – and our normal life around here includes you. Don’t go. Let’s see if we can get this worked out.”

 

“If you say so,” the young man sighed, his tone making it clear that he was not so sure that her idea was a good one. “Just let me know if you want me to go, Buffy.”

 

“I could just take him upstairs,” Dawn interjected from her place beside Spike, her sheltering arms still wrapped tightly around him, a pleading look in her troubled eyes. She was not so sure she liked Buffy’s idea, either. “I mean, Buffy, look at him! You guys can talk while I just get him out of here for a while – okay?”

 

Buffy took in the terrified, panicked expression on the vampire’s face, the way his entire body was shaking with fear, and swallowed back the sick feeling that rose in her throat.

 

“No, Dawnie,” she insisted, a bit sadly. “He can’t go on like this. He has to know that he’s gonna be safe, no matter who comes and goes around here – that we’re not gonna let anybody hurt him. And I think the only way he’s really gonna get that – is to see it for himself. To *be here*, when someone’s around that he’s a little scared of, and get through it, and realize that he’s okay – you know?”

 

“Um – this may be a really bad idea, so stop me if I’m out of line here,” the young man spoke up, his voice convincingly hesitant and uncertain. “But – what if we just kind of – *prove* to him that I’m safe. Like – just give me a few minutes with him, just to let him see that I’m not gonna hurt him…”

 

“Unh-uh,” Dawn immediately protesting, as Spike froze completely beside her, not even breathing for a few moments with the terror inspired by that suggestion. “He’d totally freak out. We can’t…”

 

“Yeah, he’d freak out – for all of like, two minutes, before you guys came back in the room,” the young man continued his suggestion, apparently thinking it through as he went along, enthusiasm and optimism rising in his voice as he looked at Buffy for her reaction. “And then, obviously, nothing would have happened, and he’d have to know that I don’t want to hurt him – because if I wanted to hurt him, obviously I’d do it while I was alone with him – right?”

 

The room was silent for a long moment, as Buffy frowned thoughtfully, turning her eyes back to Spike – who was suddenly staring at her, wide-eyed in panic, searching her gaze for what her response would be.

 

He could not wait to hear her answer.

 

“*No*!” he could not hold back the desperate, pleading whimper that tore from his throat, as he leaned forward, clutching at Buffy’s arms and dropping his head to her shoulder, begging for her protection in a breathless, sobbing whisper, “No, no, please, Buffy, please, no!”

 

Startled by the vehemence of his reaction – though she knew that she shouldn’t have been – Buffy wrapped her arms around him, holding him to her as she gently whispered to him, trying to soothe him.

 

“Um – sorry,” she said aloud, glancing up at her friend over Spike’s trembling shoulders. “Bad idea.”

 

“Okay,” the young man quietly accepted the verdict with a nod. “Just a thought.”

 

“Spike,” Buffy said quietly. “He’s *not* going to hurt you. I promise. But we’re not going to make you do that, Sweetheart, okay? I’m not gonna leave you alone for a second if you don’t want me to – okay?”

 

His entire body shook with relief, as he nodded his head against her shoulder, sobbing openly now as he clung to her.

 

“Shhh,” she whispered, running her fingers soothingly through his hair, rocking slightly as she just held him. “It’s okay – it’s okay…you wanna go upstairs with Dawn for a little while, Sweetie? Okay!”

 

Spike hesitated just a moment, craving the safety and security of knowing that Buffy was near; and yet, wanting desperately to be *away* from this man who had wrought such destruction in his life, and clearly was seeking a way to do so again. And if Buffy was down here with her friend…then…upstairs with Dawn should be perfectly safe…

 

He shakily raised his head, meeting Buffy’s eyes for just a moment before looking down again, ashamed of his own fear and helplessness. He nodded slowly, before looking up at her again through grateful tears.

 

“Th-thank you,” he whispered, displaying another small bit of knowledge he had gained that day, that Buffy had not yet been aware of.

 

Tears filled her own eyes as she gave him one more quick, gentle hug, and released him, allowing Dawn to lead him hurriedly toward the stairs.

 

As they passed the young man – whose gaze never left Spike; he could *feel* it, hot and angry and violent, boring into his back – Spike felt the almost unbearable compulsion to fall to the floor on his face before him. He had never been allowed to stand in this young man’s presence before, not that he could remember.

 

Only his compulsion to escape was stronger, as he obediently followed Dawn up the stairs, clinging to her hand.

 

And as she called back over her shoulder with an apologetic smile to the young man who was a friend to her and Buffy – but in no way a friend to Spike – the vampire finally learned the name of his tormentor.

 

“Sorry about all this – even if it doesn’t look like it, we kinda miss you around here.”

 

The dark-haired young man grinned up disarmingly at Dawn, a warm affection in his eyes and voice as he replied without hesitation, “Oh, well. Movie night – right?”

 

Dawn smiled back at him, and Spike kept his eyes downcast, feeling more like an outsider than he had felt since being brought here, as he listened to the girl’s light-hearted response.

 

“Right. Movie night. See you then, Xander.”


	27. Chapter 27

“I wonder what that was all about,” Buffy murmured slowly, her eyes and tone troubled as she gazed up the stairs at the place where Spike and Dawn had disappeared from sight.

 

“Well, I should think it’s rather obvious,” Giles remarked, and two sets of eyes focused on his – one with concerned interest, and the other with barely concealed fear and suspicion – though neither of the other two seemed to notice, as Giles was focused on Buffy, and Buffy on Giles.

 

“It is?” Buffy prompted, frowning, still confused.

 

Xander said nothing, just swallowed hard and stared at the Watcher, waiting for his explanation.

 

“Of course. He’s been through a traumatic ordeal, from what you’ve described to me, Buffy. Held captive and tortured by the only person in his world, until only two days ago – and a person that he’s never seen before, at that. All he has to go by to remember the person who held him captive is scent, and voice…and both the scent and voice of any man are going to be quite obviously different from those of a woman – and in some ways, similar to those of any other man,” Giles explained his position, slowly and thoughtfully.

 

“Which would explain why he was basically okay with me, and Dawn right away – but totally freaked out when he came downstairs the other night to a living room full of guy voice and guy smell. No offense, Xan,” she added as an afterthought, not quite meeting her friend’s eyes.

 

She wasn’t really sure why she felt the need to *not* mention Anya’s involvement – but she did.

 

That did not mean that she was exactly comfortable with keeping that secret from her best friend.

 

“None taken,” he replied easily, sitting down on the sofa in the spot where Spike had sat, releasing a heavy sigh that was not obviously a sound of relief. “So – it’s not just me then…’cause that would be a little – um, disturbing.”

 

“No,” Buffy reassured him, giving him a sympathetic smile. “He reacted almost the same way to Giles when he came in yesterday.”

 

“Okay,” Xander accepted her words, this time with obvious relief. “Man, Buff,” he added, shaking his head as he met her eyes with compassion. “Looks like you’ve really got your hands full.”

 

“That’s putting it mildly,” she countered with a sad little laugh.

 

“Look,” Xander began again, a bit reluctantly, “I think maybe I was – a little unreasonable the other day. I mean – I’ve never really trusted Spike – never really had a reason to – and you know how I feel about – well, about your history with him. But…this is different. *He’s* different now – you know?”

 

“I *really* do,” Buffy replied without hesitation, her eyes wide and solemn as they focused on the coffee table in front of her, her mind replaying the image of Spike when she had found him in the cave, over and over again.

 

“So – I can see why you feel the need to – look after him, you know? I mean – all things considered…” Xander continued.

 

There was a moment of awkward silence, all three of them well aware of just what “all things” Xander was talking about, though he hadn’t specifically said that he was referring to the secret relationship that had left such a dramatic mark on Buffy’s first year of life after her death.

 

“Well, anyway – I guess what I’m trying to say is – if you need my help, I’m here, Buffy,” Xander finally finished, meeting her eyes with his own chocolate brown gaze full of sincerity and compassion. “I’ll do whatever you need me to do…keep Dawn occupied every now and then, or – or give you a break once in a while…you know, once he’s not scared to death every time he sees me – or smells me – or whatever.”

 

“Thanks, Xander,” Buffy gave him a smile that was both apologetic and appreciative at once, as she sighed wearily, leaning her head against the back of the couch and raising her arms to press her palms against her eyes. “I appreciate that. Though, I have to say, the way things went today, it’ll probably be a while before that’s a possibility.”

 

“I know,” he replied quietly. “I’m relieved that it’s not just me that he reacts to like that – and at the same time, I feel a little guilty for feeling relieved,” he admitted with a sheepish little smile. “Just let me know though; I’ll do whatever I can.”

 

“I must say,” Giles spoke up suddenly, a pensive frown on his face. “Although Spike does seem a bit skittish around *all* males – something *did* seem a bit different about his reaction today – don’t you think so, Buffy?”

 

Buffy nodded slowly, a bit ruefully, as if she had been thinking the same thing but had not really wanted to bring it up. “Yeah. This was – worse. And yesterday, you were all threatening him and in his face and everything…and it *still* wasn’t this bad…”

 

A slightly uncomfortable silence fell over the room, each of the three in their own private thoughts, though only one of them even considered the true explanation for what Giles had pointed out.

 

After a few moments, Xander spoke up again, his tone reluctant. “Um, Buffy – I really hate to bring this up, but I just had a thought.”

 

“What kind of thought?” Buffy asked, one eyebrow raised as she looked up to study her friend’s face. “Because if it has anything to do with ‘putting Spike out of his misery’ you’d best keep that thought to yourself!”

 

“No, no,” Xander objected, shaking his head. “Nothing like that. I just – I had a thought as to why Spike might have reacted like he just did. I mean – you saw the way he reacted to Angel the other night – all freaked out and bowing at his feet and everything?”

 

“Uh-huh,” Buffy replied slowly, cautiously, suddenly sure that she was not going to like what her friend had to say. “But Angel said…”

 

“Just – hear me out,” Xander broke in again with quiet urgency, holding up a hand in a request for silence. “Vampires have this like, freaky good sense of smell, right? Like they can smell if you’ve been around someone recently, stuff like that?”

 

“Yes,” Giles nodded thoughtfully, giving the boy a questioning look.

 

“Well – I bet you’ll never guess who I ran into on my way over here…”

 

************************************

 

Dawn did not have the first idea what to do to help her friend.

 

Spike had dutifully followed her up the stairs to Buffy’s room, clinging to her hand the whole way – but once they had reached the room, the moment Dawn had turned her back to firmly shut the door, Spike had released her hand, moving away from her.

 

When she had turned back around to find him, her eyes widened with dismay, at the sight of the terrified, desperate vampire, huddled on the far side of the bed, on the floor against the wall, his knees drawn up to his chest, shaking and sobbing softly.

 

Silently, Dawn crossed the room and sat down on the floor beside him, putting her arm around him and nestling in close to him, when he resisted her gentle attempts to pull him to her side. He did not respond to her touch at all, just kept crying, his entire body shaking violently as he apparently tried to hide within himself, closing himself away from her as much as he could.

 

“Spike – it’s okay. You’re safe here – it’s all right,” she repeated the reassuring words that seemed automatic to her by now, her fingers rising to run through his hair in a gesture of affection and comfort. “Buffy and me – we won’t let anything happen to you,” she promised him, her soft voice earnest and determined. “No matter what.”

 

Spike finally raised his red, tear-filled eyes to hers, full of an unspeakable anguish and hopelessness, as he just shook his head, unable to find the words to explain to her why the words that had been so comforting before, now meant nothing to him.

 

“What, Spike?” she pressed him urgently. “What is it? What are you so afraid of?”

 

*Stupid question, Dawnie,* she thought immediately, cringing slightly at her own thoughtlessness.

 

But this *was* different; she was not imagining that. Something had freaked Spike out, badly – beyond the general sort of fear she had seen in him over the past few days. The trembling vampire stared up at her, panic and confusion evident in his eyes, and she wondered for a moment if *he* even understood what it was that had thrown him into such a fit of terror.

 

Then, Spike just shook his head, lowering it back to rest on his knees, despair in every aspect of his expression, his demeanor – as if to say that he knew there was no way he could ever make her understand.

 

“Spike,” Dawn insisted, moving around to face him and placing her hands gently but firmly on his knees, trying to gain his attention, “you can tell me. *Anything*. Please tell me, Spike – what happened down there?”

 

“C-can’t,” he finally sobbed out a response, without looking up – though one thin, trembling hand reached out to clutch hers desperately. “H-hurt – can’t t-tell…”

 

“Wait -- *what*?” Dawn gasped, her eyes widening as she reached her free hand up to his face, tilting it slightly up toward hers. “Spike – no! No one’s gonna hurt you if you tell us what happened! I don’t know what that creep did to you, but we’re not going to hurt you just for telling us why you’re feeling this way! You can tell me and Buffy anything – you have to know that! We would *never* hurt you!”

 

Spike looked up at her suddenly, confused and startled by her words – before understanding dawned in his eyes, as he realized her mistake. “No,” he whispered, the misery of loneliness and utter hopelessness in his eyes, before he looked away again. “Not – not you. Not Buffy. Bad – h-hurt – me…”

 

Dawn’s chest hurt, a physical ache in her heart that brought tears to her eyes, at the pain and terror in those deep, tearful blue eyes – and the fact that she had no idea how to ease it. “Spike – I’m sorry – I don’t understand. I’m not going to hurt you. *No one* is going to hurt you! You’re not bad, Spike, you’re *not*! You have to stop thinking that you’re…”

 

“No,” he whispered, shaking his head in obvious frustration, though he did not raise it from his knees. “N-not me…”

 

At that moment, the door to the bedroom opened, and Spike flinched at the sudden sound, the bright light that flooded the room from the hallway, looking up with panicked eyes to see who had entered his place of fragile safety.

 

“Shh, it’s okay,” Dawn soothed him, looking up to the doorway, and then back at his face with an attempt at a reassuring smile. “It’s just Buffy – Buffy’s here, Spike…”

 

What neither girl could know was that due to an apparently impulsive – and very touching – supportive hug Xander had given Buffy on her way up the stairs – she was covered in the scent of Spike’s torturer – an instantaneous reminder to the vampire of just how close his savior was to his abuser.

 

Any thoughts Spike had momentarily entertained of telling them everything, in spite of Xander’s silent threats, immediately vanished in a fresh flood of panic.

 

“Spike? Honey, what…?” Buffy hurried to his side, crouching down in front of him, surprised and dismayed to see him still so very frightened. She had assumed that once he was upstairs, alone with Dawn, he would quickly calm down.

 

She was even more startled and dismayed when he shrank back away from her in fear, with a soft pleading whimper.

 

“D-don’t – don’t…” he sobbed, flinching when she reached out to touch his arm – and her hand froze, inches away from his shaking body. “Please…don’t…touch…don’t…”

 

Buffy swallowed back her hurt and surprise, glancing up at her sister in bewilderment – but Dawn seemed just as dumbfounded by Spike’s unexpected behavior. Buffy slowly stood up, staring down at the terrified vampire, unsure how to react. All she had wanted was to take him in her arms, to do as she had done for two nights now, and hold him in her arms until the tears and trembling faded away into comfort.

 

But every instinct told her that at this moment, for some inexplicable reason, her comfort would appear as a threat to Spike – so she did not make any further move to touch him.

 

“I won’t, Spike,” she promised him softly. “I won’t touch you, if you don’t want me to.”

 

“Buffy…” Dawn looked up at her with sympathy in her crystal blue eyes, shaking her head, her mouth open to offer some reassurance that at the moment, Buffy *really* did not want to hear.

 

“Don’t worry about it, Dawnie,” she cut her off gently, forcing a weak smile. “I – I have to go, anyway…”

 

“Go?” Dawn echoed in disbelief. “Go where?”

 

“There’s someone I need to talk to,” Buffy answered vaguely, but the slight hardening of her expression told Dawn that whatever conversation she was going to have was definitely related to what had happened to Spike. “Giles and Xander are going to stay – downstairs. They won’t bother you two; they’ll just be here – you know, just in case…”

 

Dawn nodded, satisfied with that arrangement. Neither Giles nor Xander made her feel quite as safe as her sister did, but they were the next best thing to a father and a brother to both girls, and she felt much better knowing that they would be there, if Buffy would not.

 

Amidst his desperate sobs, neither girl noticed the slight hitching of Spike’s breath, the way his body went still for a moment, though he did not raise his head or make a sound.

 

As Buffy turned to walk out the bedroom door, Dawn’s clear, slightly higher than usual voice stopped her in her tracks. “Buffy?”

 

“Yes.” The Slayer’s voice was barely audible, thick with unshed tears, and she did not turn around.

 

“Whoever you’re going to talk to – if he did this…” Dawn began, her youthful voice soft and earnest – and full of a deadly chill. “…don’t kill him too quickly.”

 

Buffy’s eyes widened, though she still did not turn around – and the shock of Dawn’s words was fleeting. After all, especially at this moment, with Spike’s quiet, desperate sobs still audible behind her – she understood her little sister’s sentiments perfectly. They were only an echo of her own feelings.

 

“Don’t worry,” she assured her sister flatly. “I won’t.”

 

And with those coldly spoken words, she was out the door, and out of the house in the next few moments – headed across town toward the place where Xander had told her she would find the person she sought.

 

And as she made her way across town, intent on finding out who was responsible for the wreckage that had been made of her former lover, Buffy was completely unaware that in her upstairs bedroom, the fragile heart of said former lover shattered just a bit more with her exit.

 

The scent that surrounded her had made him sure that had she touched him right in that moment, he would have been physically sick. He could not bear the thought of havin that scent on his own body again, a physical reminder of the torments he had been through.

 

But that did not mean that he wanted her gone – especially not with his tormentor in the house.

 

And as the Slayer abruptly walked out, Spike was firmly convinced that once again he had done something wrong, had driven her away with his tears, his panic, caused her to walk away from him, leaving him here at the mercy of his enemy.

 

And despite Dawn’s best efforts to soothe him – his bitter tears of heartache and despair flowed on, as the Slayer made her way out her front door, and across town into the night.


	28. Chapter 28

As Buffy rose to her feet and walked away, Spike felt the darkness, the terror, closing in on him – and he wanted nothing more than to rise from the floor where he was huddled against the wall, and fall at her feet in her path and beg her not to go.

 

The thought of her leaving him here – even with Dawn – was terrifying, when he could still smell the scent of his former captor in the air…still here the muffled strains of his voice drifting up the stairs. He knew that there was no one but Buffy who stood a chance of protecting him – and she was leaving.

 

He had made her *want* to leave.

 

*Stupid – bad – don’t deserve her,* he berated himself. *No wonder she’s leaving you with him!*

 

It was a long time after Buffy had gone downstairs before Spike was even aware of Dawn’s continued presence beside him, her warm arm wrapped around his shoulders, her gentle, soothing hand stroking slowly up and down his back in an attempt to calm him.

 

“Spike,” she whispered softly. “Shhh…it’s okay…come on, Spike, let’s get you to bed, Sweetie, okay? You’ll feel better after you get some rest…come on, Spike…”

 

It was only the deeply ingrained habit of obedience that drew him to his feet, as she rose and took his hands, patiently leading him toward the bed. He was wearing the clothes he had worn all day – the black t-shirt and jeans that Buffy had bought for him – but neither of them thought anything of it as Dawn made him lie down and covered him with the soft blankets, then climbed in beside him, only kicking off her shoes before she settled in with her arms protectively wrapped around him.

 

His sobs had subsided – mostly because he had just about cried himself out – but his fears had not, as he nestled in close to the girl, his head on her shoulder, his eyes tightly shut against the terror of the one he knew waited for him downstairs – waiting for the opportunity to strike again.

 

“I don’t know what’s the matter, Spike,” Dawn murmured softly as she held him close to her. “I mean – I don’t know what’s got you so panicked right now – but no one’s going to hurt you. I promise. Buffy’s not going to let them. She’s gone right now to look for the person who did this to you, Spike. She’s going to make sure they never get the chance to touch you again.”

 

Spike did not respond at all – no movement or sound even to indicate that he had heard her at all.

 

His heart sank at the thought of Buffy out there, looking for his attacker, when his attacker was right here under her own roof the whole time. A part of him wanted to tell Dawn the truth, to let her know that Buffy’s effort at the moment was a waste of time, when the true threat was much closer than she realized – but the greater part of him was too terrified of what might happen if he dared to tell the secret.

 

After all, he thought – what good would it do?

 

The silent threats of the young man downstairs were still clear in his mind, and he knew that Buffy would have a hard time believing that someone she was obviously so close to was the one who had hurt him. What if he told, and Buffy did not believe him – and he only succeeded in making his enemy angrier? He would be no safer than he was now; in fact, he would be in even greater danger than before.

 

And worst of all, he thought, a cold, empty feeling of fear creeping over him at the idea…

 

What if he lost the love, the friendship and support, of these two girls who had come to mean so much to him?

 

What if they hated him for his accusation, and turned him away – leaving him helpless in the hands of his abuser?

 

No, he decided. It was better to keep his mouth shut, to keep the truth to himself, than to risk losing the fragile sense of security and comfort he had found in the love of Buffy and Dawn. His attacker had wanted him to keep quiet – so apparently, it *did* matter to him whether or not the girls knew of what he had done. So – he was not likely to try anything when Dawn or Buffy were around…

 

Right?

 

*Buffy,* he thought, his trembling hands clinging desperately to the younger girl who was not quite a substitute for the gentle strength of the Slayer, *please…please come back…I’m so sorry…please don’t leave me…not with him…*

 

**********************************

 

With a force she had formerly reserved only for Spike’s crypt door, Buffy slammed the door to the old mansion open with a powerful kick, storming inside. Angel looked up at her in surprise from where he sat in a dilapidated old armchair, near the dark, empty fireplace. He had been staring into it as if at an imaginary fire when she had walked in.

 

Brooding, no doubt.

 

*About what he did to Spike?* she wondered, her eyes narrowing in fury as she stalked toward him. *Good – I’ll give him something more to brood about!*

 

Before he even had time to get up, her fist shot out, slamming into his face, knocking him back into the chair, and he shook his head, dazed by the force of the blow. She followed it up with a second one, before yanking the much larger vampire up out of the chair and throwing him to the floor, several yards away.

 

“I’ll kill you,” she declared, her voice trembling with rage. “I’ll freakin’ kill you, Angel…”

 

“Wait,” he mumbled, trying to drag himself to his feet through the haze that still filled his head – somehow understanding, although he could barely think straight yet, that if he did not *move*, *now*, he was going to be dust before he had the opportunity to defend himself. “Buffy, wait – what…”

 

A single vicious kick to his ribcage cut off his attempt, and he was sure that he was about to be dust.

 

“How could you do it, Angel?” He could hear the tremor of tears in her voice now, as she simply stood over him, glaring down at him through emerald eyes glimmering with emotion. “How could you do that to your own *family*? How could you *lie* to me and pretend that you actually *cared* about him? That you were here to help? How could you?”

 

Her rapid fire questions, spoken too quickly to allow for answers, seemed to build her fury up again, because as she finished the last of them, he heard and felt the swift rush of air accompanying her foot as it sped toward his face.

 

He caught it in his hand, yanking it out from under her and sending her to the floor on her back, knocking the wind from her with the unexpected impact. In the next moment, Angel was on his feet – only a bare instant before the Slayer, who somehow now had her stake in her hand.

 

“Buffy, hold on!” he insisted, his own voice shaking a bit as he circled warily with her, his eyes darting back and forth between her face and her upraised stake-wielding hand. “Slow down a second and tell me what you’re talking about!”

 

“Spike!” Buffy practically spat the word at him, outrage in her eyes. “Remember him? Your *childe*? The one you’ve reduced to the level of a helpless, harmless baby?”

 

Confused, Angel shook his head, frowning. “Buffy – we talked about this! I told you, I never touched him! Well – not recently,” he amended with a little grimace, his eyes widening on hers as he realized that that last comment was not exactly a wise one, considering her current frame of mind.

 

“Yeah? So why does he absolutely freak out every time he smells *you*?” she demanded, her eyes blazing with accusation – but she *did* stay her hand long enough to hear his answer this time.

 

“What?” he shook his head again, more confused than ever. “I haven’t been anywhere near Spike, not since *you* told me to stay away unless you asked for me! So that’s exactly *one* freak out, and I’m not completely convinced that that one was because of me! Remember?” Defensive anger made his words come out a bit faster and shakier than he intended.

 

Or maybe that was the stake in her increasingly unsteady hand.

 

“Xander came by tonight. After running into you earlier this evening.” Buffy stopped at that, as if expecting him to understand based on that alone.

 

He didn’t.

 

At his blank expression, the slight shake of his head to indicate that he didn’t get it, Buffy let out a weary sigh, lowering her stake slightly and rolling her eyes before fastening her piercing gaze on him again.

 

“When Xander walked in – Spike completely lost it. Kind of like he did the other night, with you. Come to find out after a few minutes – Xander ran into *you* tonight, before he came by,” Buffy explained, her voice and eyes hard as she studied her former lover for any sign, any subtle clue as to his guilt.

 

Angel was silent, staring at her in disbelief. Finally, he seemed to find his voice again.

 

“And so – you just *assume* that means it’s *me* that he’s scared of?”

 

Buffy looked at him blankly this time, obviously not quite sure what he was getting at.

 

“Why me?” Angel demanded, anger in his voice. “Why not Xander? Xander was there the last time Spike freaked out, too, wasn’t he?”

 

Buffy was so startled by the accusation, that she completely missed the dangerous glint in Angel’s eyes at the mention of her friend, and his possible involvement in what had happened to Spike.

 

“Xander?” she echoed in disbelief. “You don’t honestly expect me to think that *Xander* is capable of the kind of torture that Spike’s been through – do you?”

 

Angel shrugged carelessly, but his dark eyes were somehow cold, and yet hot with anger at the same time. “You better hope not – for his sake. Because if he *did* do it – he’s going to pay, human or not.”

 

Buffy blinked, her eyes widening at his blunt statement – and suddenly, gazing into the eyes of the vampire that at one time she had known better than any other…she knew.

 

Angel could not have done it.

 

“Then how else do you explain it?” she said, her voice softening, taking on a quality of dull discouragement as she lowered her stake. “What set him off like that? Because I know it wasn’t Xander. It couldn’t have been. He’s just – he’s not capable of something like that.”

 

Angel did not respond for a moment, sensing that at the moment, bringing up his own opinion of the boy’s capability of torture and violence was not exactly a good idea. Finally, he shrugged again, looking away for a moment.

 

“Could be anything, Buffy. I highly doubt that I’m the only person Xander saw today – the only one he bumped into on the sidewalk, or stopped to talk to for a minute…”

 

“Giles said it could just be because he’s a male,” Buffy offered flatly, sitting down in the armchair Angel had been in when she had walked in, all her energy swiftly leaving her.

 

Angel considered that for a moment, nodding noncommittally. “It’s possible. But – not likely. There are enough differences in human scents – he could most likely tell the difference between one guy and the next.”

 

Relieved that the confrontation – and evident threat to his unlife – had passed, Angel sank down in the chair across from her, watching her thoughtfully, waiting for her response. She was obviously thinking the whole thing through, trying to make the troublesome events of the past few days reconcile with her understanding of the way her world was.

 

“Then – I just don’t understand,” she said finally, shaking her head before leaning forward and resting it in her hand with a sigh. “I mean – it’s not possible that it’s Xander. It’s just – it’s not…” she insisted – but the tone of her voice made it clear that she was finally considering the possibility.

 

“So – Xander – he said he thought it was me?” Angel asked after a moment, a guarded sound to his voice.

 

Buffy looked up at him, her expression pensive as she replayed the events of the evening in her mind. “Yeah,” she admitted. “He – he came in, and – and Spike completely freaked out. He was terrified, like he thought somebody was gonna…” Her voice trailed off, and she shook her head, closing her eyes as she swallowed back the pain of seeing him in such terror.

 

“Dawn took him upstairs – and we…me and Giles and Xander…were trying to figure out why he reacted that strongly this time – not like the other times,” Buffy continued, thinking it through as she went along.

 

“And let me guess -- *that’s* when Xander came up with his little theory that I *shot* my childe in the head,” Angel broke in, disgust in his voice at the very suggestion that he might have done such a cowardly thing, “something only a human would really do, Buffy – and then held him captive and tortured him for months…right?”

 

Buffy’s expression took on a strange wariness, as she met his eyes again, nodding slowly. “Yeah,” she said softly. “That’s right.”

 

They were both quiet for a moment.

 

“Buffy?” Angel asked quietly, drawing her attention with the quiet urgency of his tone. “Xander left before you did – right?”

 

********************************

 

It was hilariously easy to convince the old man to leave Dawn and Spike under his watchful eyes.

 

For the past half hour, Giles had been nodding off in front of the television – and when Xander suggested thoughfully that he go home and get some rest, leaving him there to wait for Buffy’s return – the Watcher had offered little to no resistance to the suggestion.

 

With the rather unnecessary reminder not to invite anyone in until Buffy returned, Giles had headed home for the evening – and Xander had headed up the stairs.

 

The door to Dawn’s bedroom was open – and the room was empty; the bathroom was empty as well.

 

That left only one option – and the very thought of it made the boy’s blood boil.

 

His eyes narrowed, darkening with rage, as he turned his attention to Buffy’s closed bedroom door. He approached it, his hand hovering over the handle for a long moment, considering what would be his best approach. In the darkness of the hallway, he could see that the lights were off inside.

 

It was already after 11:00.

 

Was Dawn still awake?

 

After a moment’s hesitation, he knocked softly on the door. If Dawn was awake, he could always say that he had just come up to check on her, make sure they were both okay.

 

She would buy it – if she came to the door.

 

Which she didn’t.

 

Slowly, cautiously, Xander eased the bedroom door open, pausing in the darkened doorway for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the darker room. A slow smile spread over his face at the sight that met his eyes, illuminated faintly by the glow of the television screen.

 

Dawn was fast asleep, her face turned slightly toward him, one arm draped lightly over the vampire at her side.

 

The vampire was most definitely not asleep. He was shaking violently, wide sapphire eyes focused on the doorway, though he dared not move or make a sound. Xander smirked to himself, satisfied that his simple warning had remained effective.

 

He was unafraid that his soft voice might wake Buffy’s little sister when he spoke; Dawn had always slept – well -- *more* soundly than the dead, apparently. His voice was barely over a chillingly soft whisper, anyway, as he smiled at the terrified creature in the bed, meeting his eyes with sadistic menace.

 

“Hello, Spike.”


	29. Chapter 29

“Get up. And come over here.”

 

Spike heard the frighteningly soft command, but could not quite bring himself to move. All he really wanted to do was to wake up Dawn, to alert her to the presence of her friend in the doorway, and try to make her aware of the threat he posed.

 

But – would she believe him?

 

He could see the scene playing out in his head – and somehow, he could not see it ending in any other way than with Dawn trying to calm him and reassure him that he had just misunderstood, that Xander was not dangerous, he was just confused, because of all that he’d been through…and going right back to sleep.

 

At which point, Xander would be free to work out his increased aggressions on Spike.

 

His hesitation was immediately overcome with fear at the next whispered words out of the young man’s mouth – barely audible, to anyone but Spike, and certainly not loud enough to disturb Dawn’s sleep.

 

“If you wake her up – I’ll have to hurt her, Spike. And I know you don’t want me to do that.”

 

Spike froze, a soft pleading whimper rising in his throat, as he closed his eyes, shaking his head in desperate denial of what was happening.

 

Xander did not allow it for long.

 

“I won’t tell you again, Spike. Get your pathetic, worthless butt over here, *now*.” The softness, the calm tone of his voice made the menacing words all the more chilling.

 

Helplessly, Spike eased his body out from under the light weight of Dawn’s arm, sliding across the mattress until she was no longer touching him -- careful not to disturb her at all.

 

If something happened to her because of his own stupidity – he would never forgive himself.

 

The moment Spike’s feet hit the floor – he dropped to his knees, his head lowered submissively, as he crawled obediently toward the young man across the room, in the way that he had been made to time and again during his captivity.

 

“That’s it,” Xander softly encouraged him, “that’s a good boy, Spike…” He spoke to him as if he was an often-beaten dog, which might flee if he spoke too harshly to him – but Spike knew that the gentle tone was a deception.

 

He *wanted* to flee – he just knew that it would do no good.

 

He knew it now, beyond all doubt – there *was* no escape.

 

The moment he came within Xander’s reach, the boy grabbed him by the hair, jerking him up to his feet, and Spike bit back the cry of pain that rose to his lips – aware that too much noise on his part would only serve to place Dawn in danger. Still, Xander clamped a hand tightly over his mouth as he dragged the shaking, unresisting vampire out into the hallway, closing the bedroom door quietly behind them.

 

He continued into Dawn’s bedroom across the hall, closing the door before shoving Spike forcefully up against the wall, leaning into his face with a smug smile of menace as his big hands fisted in the fabric of Spike’s t-shirt.

 

“Well – guess you thought you’d really pulled one over on me, didn’t you, Fangless?” he sneered.

 

Spike just shook his head, desperately, helplessly, his trembling hands raised in front of his stomach between them, a futile, instinctive gesture of self-defense.

 

“Thought you’d got away? Thought I wouldn’t find you?” He slammed him against the wall again, leaning in closer to him to snarl, “No such luck, Spike. I told you – you’ll *never* get away from me!”

 

Spike just shook his head, tears falling from his tightly shut eyes, much to his dismay. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible over the harsh, angry breath of his attacker. “Please…please don’t…”

 

Xander had never allowed him the luxury of tears. When things had been at their worst in the caves where he had been held prisoner, and Spike could not hold back the tears of agony and despair – those tears had only served to infuriate the boy further, and bring about more pain and punishment. Spike was nothing more than a monster, Xander had insisted. Not human – no real feelings – and not deserving of the right to complain about anything that was done to him, in any way.

 

But the past few days – the powerful release of emotions that had been held back for so long, and mercifully allowed by Buffy and Dawn – had left Spike with very little control over the emotions that consumed him now. His resistance was weakened, and the tears seemed determined to streak his face, no matter how hard he tried to stop them.

 

But apparently, at the moment, the tears were the least of Xander’s concerns.

 

“Well, look at you!” he smirked, with a falsely impressed tone. “Aren’t you just coming along so well! Talking and everything! You’re getting pretty smart, arentcha, Spike?”

 

The leading nod of the boy’s head prompted the petrified creature, nearly beside himself with terror, to nod quickly in response, choking back a sob as he whispered, “Yes…yes…”

 

“*No*!” Xander snapped, a vicious fury in his voice as he shoved Spike into the wall again, and the vampire flinched at the violence of his reaction. “No, you’re not, Spike! You are *stupid*! Nothing but a stupid, worthless monster – and I’ve told you more than once to keep your stupid mouth *shut*! So what I’m wondering is – why you’re talking at all, you little idiot? Huh?”

 

Spike shook his head desperately, simply responding to Xander’s actions, not having the first idea what was expected of him, how to appease this monster in front of him – simply wanting to go along with whatever he said, to somehow keep from angering him any further.

 

As the boy visibly reined in his rage, making an effort to regain his control before going on, Spike felt his knees weaken beneath him at the power of the hatred rolling off of the young man – the seemingly harmless boy who had held him in his power for as long as he could remember.

 

“Sorry about that,” Xander chuckled softly, shaking his head in self-deprecating amusement. “I’d better keep it down – or I might wake up Dawn – and I *really* don’t want to hurt her, Spike – I really don’t – it’s just that if you weren’t so freakin’ *stupid*,” he hissed, slamming his fist suddenly into the wall in a restrained show of anger, inches from Spike’s face, “then I wouldn’t get so freakin’ *angry* -- you know?”

 

He smiled as Spike flinched away from him, and he grabbed his hair, jerking his head backward and twisting his hand cruelly in the unruly golden curls.

 

“S-sorry!” the vampire stammered out in a whisper, tears streaming from his eyes. “Sorry – please!”

 

“See, that’s what I’m talking about, Spike – stupid!” Xander shook his head in mock sympathy, tightening his grip on Spike’s hair, pulling mercilessly at the wound on the back of his head that had not quite healed yet. “ ‘Cause I already told you very clearly to *shut up*!”

 

In a misery of confusion and terror, desperate to appease his captor, yet forbidden even to apologize, or plead for mercy, Spike felt the old impulse to fall to his knees on the floor at Xander’s feet – tried to, in fact – but Xander’s strong hands gripped his arms and pulled him back up straight.

 

“Unh-uh, Spikey,” he sneered, shaking his head with a deceptively kind smile. “it’s way too late for that. See – we’ve got a little problem here. Back when you were nothing but a pathetic little retard – couldn’t see – or talk – or even tell anybody what I look like – I didn’t have to worry about you running your mouth – telling Buffy things I *really* don’t want her to know…”

 

“W-won’t,” Spike desperately promised, his eyes wide and pleading. “Won’t tell – please…”

 

Xander’s hand immediately drew back in preparation for a punishing blow across his face, and Spike flinched.

 

“Sorry – sorry,” he whispered, one hand raised in a weak, instinctive attempt to shield his face from the threatened blow.

 

“You’re not *too* sorry, are you, Spike?” Xander snarled, grabbing his wrist and wrenching it down to his side, moving in closer to his face, just to emphasize how helpless he really was. “ ‘Cause you’re still running your mouth! Guess you’re still just a little retard after all, aren’t you?”

 

Spike shook his head frantically, though he dared not say a word, trembling violently at the terrifying nearness of his tormentor, pressed so close to him that the heat from his furious body was searing against his thinly covered skin.

 

“You are – if I say you are – aren’t you?” Xander demanded, raising his hand again.

 

Realizing that he had given the wrong answer, Spike quickly corrected, nodding obediently, this time not daring to raise his own hand in self-protection.

 

“So you expect me to believe that a little idiot like you is just gonna keep his mouth shut? Just because I tell you to?”

 

Again Spike nodded desperately, tears streaming down his face. *Please – please don’t hurt me – please don’t – I’ll never tell…*

 

“Well – I don’t think I believe you, honestly, Spike,” Xander went on with a smirk. “Personally – I think you’re gonna go running to Buffy to tell her everything the first chance you get – aren’t you?”

 

Desperately, Spike shook his head, keeping it lowered in submission, his eyes closed as the silent plea circled through his head again and again. *No – won’t tell – please…*

 

“Little liar,” Xander snarled, slamming Spike back against the wall and raising his fist this time – but once again, stopping is hand before delivering the blow. “No – I’d better be careful, huh, Spike? Wouldn’t wanna leave any marks, would I? At least, not anywhere she’ll notice…”

 

One hand tangled viciously in Spike’s hair again, as Xander reached his other fist around behind the vampire’s back, driving it relentlessly into his kidneys – eliciting a startled cry of fear and pain.

 

“Shut *up*!” Xander demanded – and Spike obediently stifled the sound, biting down hard on his lip, until he tasted his own blood in his mouth.

 

“See, she’ll never know anything even happened, this way, will she?” the boy went on, satisfaction in his cruelly smug voice. “And you’re not gonna tell her, either – are you?”

 

Spike shook his head pleadingly, not even bothering to fight the tears of pain that flowed down his face – not anymore.

 

“No, you’re not,” Xander agreed, “you’re not gonna say a word – and do you know why, Spike?”

 

Another pitiful shake of his head; Spike’s face was streaked with tears that had fallen down to soak his shirt.

 

“Because if you do – I’m not just gonna kill *you*,” Xander warned him softly. “I’m gonna kill Dawn – and Buffy, too. I can do it, no matter how strong she is – because they’d never see it coming. They trust me, Spike. They’d never believe you anyway. You know that.”

 

Sobbing softly, defeated, Spike nodded.

 

“Now, if you keep your mouth shut, there’s no reason why I should have to hurt you, Spike,” Xander reasoned patiently, though his relentless fist in Spike’s back was anything but gentle. “You can go on doing reasonably okay, you know?” he shrugged. “Dawn and Buffy will be safe – and I won’t bother you – but – if you don’t think you can keep your mouth shut…”

 

Spike frantically shook his head, terrified at the soft menace in the boy’s voice, the terrible things he had threatened to do.

 

He would do *anything* to protect Buffy and Dawn.

 

“You can’t?” Xander deliberately misunderstood. “That’s what I thought…” Shaking his head sadly, he released Spike, taking the same gun he had used to shoot Spike in the first place from his jacket pocket, and turning back toward Buffy’s bedroom, where Dawn lay sleeping, innocently oblivious to the scene that was taking place in her own room.

 

“*No*!” Spike cried out desperately, dropping to his knees on the floor, one hand reaching out instinctively to catch the boy’s ankle in a weak, trembling grasp that was more imploring than restrictive.

 

Xander stopped, looking down expectantly at the vampire, now leaning forward, his face to the floor in supplication, sobbing and shaking his head in a silent plea to spare the girl who already felt like his own family.

 

Xander just stared down at him coldly for a moment, before jerking free of his weak grasp, a contemptuous look in his dark, hate-filled eyes – smiling secretly to himself with satisfaction.

 

He would never have laid a hand on Dawn.

 

But fortunately for him – Spike did not know that.

 

“You’re gonna keep your mouth shut?” he asked in a coldly skeptical voice.

 

Spike nodded, his trembling lips still pressed to the floor, but not daring to make a sound.

 

After an excruciatingly long pause, Xander finally nodded, crouching down beside him. “Okay. We have a deal then,” he declared softly. “But if you say a word, Spike…” He reached down suddenly and jerked him up by the hair, forcing him to meet his eyes. “…Dawn’s going to be the first to go. You’ll be last – and I’ll make it last a good long time, Spike, you got that?”

 

Spike nodded, swallowing back a fresh sob of despair – and Xander released him, leaving him kneeling on the floor as he stood up straight, glancing at his watch.

 

“Buffy should be home soon,” he remarked. “You’d better go crawl back into her bed like a good little whore.”

 

Spike could not remember the meaning of the word that Xander had just called him – but the seething disgust in his voice was clear. He started to rise on trembling legs, but Xander’s heavy hand on his shoulder shoved him back to his knees. He looked up through wide, fearful eyes, uncertain of what exactly he had done wrong – surprised to see that Xander was still calm and smiling.

 

He didn’t know whether to be relieved or terrified.

 

“I said crawl, didn’t I?” Xander smirked as he released him, his eyebrows raised in a subtle challenge.

 

At the moment, there was no challenge that Spike felt up to. His heart numb with the shame, pain, and fear of the past half hour, he dropped down on trembling hands and knees, and made his way down the hall back to Buffy’s bed – waiting hopelessly for her return, with nothing to think about except his own isolation of helplessness.

 

********************************

 

“You’re wrong, Angel,” Buffy gasped for breath as she slowed her pace, when she and Angel reached her driveway. “It’s not Xander – it can’t be.”

 

“I thought you said Giles was here.”

 

Buffy frowned at the empty spot in the driveway where Giles’ car had been. “He was.”

 

Without another word, Angel rushed toward the door – and if only to spare her front door the fate of being smashed to pieces by the frantic vampire, Buffy hurried to beat him there – trying her best to fight back the rising sick feeling of apprehension in the pit of her stomach.

 

*Not Xander – can’t be Xander – he could never…*

 

“Wait!” she snapped at Angel, fumbling with her key before finally managing to unlock the door. “Everything’s gonna be just fine in there, Angel, you’ll see…”

 

The moment the door was open, Angel rushed past her inside, stopping short in the entry, staring into the living room. Feeling her heart drop into her stomach, Buffy moved quickly past him to see what he was looking at – only Xander, asleep on her living room sofa.

 

“See?” she said pointedly – but her shoulders sagged with visible relief. “Everything’s fine. Xander didn’t do anything…”

 

Angel was silent for a moment, a deep frown creasing his brow as he scented the air. A low growl rose in his throat suddenly as he snarled, “Oh, yeah? Then how come I can smell my childe all over him?”

 

Before Buffy could recover from the shock of that statement – or even begin to think of trying to stop him – Angel had crossed to the couch, gripping the sleeping boy’s shirt and hauling up off the couch with both hands.

 

“Angel, stop it!” Buffy cried out with alarm, following him and pulling him away from a startled, sleepy Xander. “Are you crazy?”

 

“What the…” Xander mumbled, eyes suddenly wide and fearful on the vampire’s menacing game face. “Buffy!”

 

“Angel, back off!” Buffy warned him, stepping between them protectively, her voice trembling and taut with emotion.

 

“He’s been with Spike, Buffy – recently. And Spike was *terrified*! I can smell his fear all over this creep!” Angel informed her, his furious golden eyes focused on Xander’s face.

 

Buffy turned wary eyes to her friend, frowning. “Xander?”

 

“Yeah, of course I was with Spike!” he exclaimed, his own wide brown eyes darting to Buffy occasionally, as he kept his own gaze focused nervously on the master vampire who very obviously wanted to hurt him. “He was freaking out – I could hear him. Had some kind of nightmare or something. I thought Dawnie’d calm him down, but it just kept on – so I went up there. That girl sleeps like the dead, you know that?”

 

Buffy felt herself relaxing at the nervous, disarming smile that was so – so *Xander* -- felt herself beginning to let go of the fearful suspicions that Angel had placed in her mind. She nodded encouragingly, waiting for Xander to go on.

 

“Dawn didn’t wake up, so – I had to do my best to calm him down myself,” Xander explained. “And let me tell you, it wasn’t easy! But Buffy – I think he got it. He calmed down, went back to sleep.” He smiled at his friend warmly as he added, “I think he’ll actually be okay with me now, Buffy.” He paused, a slightly apologetic look in his soft brown eyes as he admitted, “I *couldn’t* leave it like it was, Buffy. I know me and Spike were never friends – but I just *couldn’t* let him be so – so scared of me, you know?”

 

Angel was not in the least affected by Xander’s easy, gentle manner.

 

“Buffy, don’t you *dare* leave Spike alone with him!” he snapped, blazing golden eyes focused on Xander’s false smile.

 

Buffy turned challenging eyes on Angel, one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?” she said, turning toward him and crossing her arms over her chest. “Last time I checked this was *my* house…”

 

“And Spike’s my childe,” Angel interrupted sharply, still glaring at Xander. “And I’m telling you, do *not* let him near him!”

 

Buffy’s eyes flashed indignantly as she turned completely on her former lover and declared, “That decision is up to me and Spike – no one else. I know you want to protect him, but it looks to me like you’re getting suspicious of the wrong person…”

 

“I’m not…”

 

“Angel, just stop it,” Buffy snapped, her voice suddenly weary as well as angry. “You almost had me convinced that my own…” She stopped abruptly, glancing at Xander, suddenly remembering that as yet, he was not aware of her suspicions. “You almost caused a lot of trouble tonight. Just – just go home, Angel…”

 

“Fine,” Angel replied tersely. “After him.”

 

With a heavy sigh, Buffy said, “Look – I just want to go check on Spike and go to bed. It’s really time for *both* of you to go – but Angel – Xander’s *not* the one who did this! You really need to just let this go, before someone else gets hurt…”

 

“Look, Buffy…I’m gonna go ahead and go home,” Xander said quietly, glancing uncertainly at Angel as he touched her arm briefly before heading for the door.

 

“Okay,” she nodded, smiling warmly and apologetically at him as he walked out. “Good night.”

 

Angel followed, an ominously purposeful weight to his step – but Buffy caught his arm, pulling him back.

 

“If you touch him,” she warned him flatly. “I *will* stake you, Angel. I don’t care what you think – he’s my best friend.”

 

Angel stared at her, disbelief, and something upsettingly like disappointment in his eyes, as he shook his head slowly, pulling his arm away from her gently.

 

“No, Buffy,” he informed her as he turned and walked out the door. “He’s really not.”


	30. Chapter 30

Closing the door firmly behind Xander and Angel – only after watching to be sure that Xander got to his car unhindered by the angry vampire – Buffy sighed wearily, closing her eyes and resting her head against the door for a moment. Again and again, Xander’s explanation played over in her head, as she tried to reassure herself with the simple reason of his words.

 

*He was telling the truth…he would never…he *had* to be telling the truth…*

 

If there were questions in her subconscious about Xander’s disturbingly convenient explanation for what Angel had smelled on him – she did not allow them to surface. She *couldn’t*. She simply could not allow herself to consider the possibility that her best friend could have committed the horrors that had been done to Spike.

 

*Spike!*

 

Her eyes widened with startled memory. Feeling suddenly ashamed of her momentarily lapse – becoming too caught up in her own troublesome thoughts to even remember the traumatized vampire upstairs – Buffy turned and headed quickly up the stairs. If Spike had had some sort of nightmare, and neither she or Dawn had been available to comfort him, it was possible that he was sill awake upstairs – alone, afraid…waiting for he.

 

Quietly, she edged the door open, peering inside – not wanting to wake Spike if he had fallen asleep.

 

Much to her relief, he was perfectly still, appearing to be sound asleep next to her sleeping little sister.

 

Closing the door again, Buffy made her way down the hall to the bathroom, more than ready to take a long, hot shower, and wash away the tension and confusion and heartsick feeling that would not seem to leave her, even now that her suspicions about her friend had been laid to rest by his explanation.

 

They *had* been laid to rest – hadn’t they?

 

She stayed under the hot water, waiting for the tension to ease out of her sore, weary body.

 

She stayed until the water was cold – but the tension remained.

 

**********************************

 

Spike heard her on the stairs before she ever reached the door – and immediately, with an effort, ceased the rapid, panicked breaths he had been taking in, closing his eyes and feigning sleep, waiting fearfully for her to either come in, or go away.

 

Fearfully – because he knew that if she walked in that room at that moment, there would be no way that he could hope to keep the secret.

 

Once Buffy closed the door, Spike struggled to genuinely compose himself – aware that eventually, she *would* come in to go to bed, and that when she did, he had to convince her that he was all right…or he would be putting her and Dawn in terrible danger, as well as himself.

 

He forced himself to focus on taking slow, steady breaths – somehow remembering that this would help to calm himself down – and forced the terrifying images that filled his thoughts away, to the back of his mind, to be taken out at another time, a time when he was alone with his fears.

 

If only he could keep them at bay that lon.

 

By the time Buffy returned to the room, filling it with light from the doorway, and a sweet fragrance of floral body wash and vanilla shampoo and the fresh, steamy heat of her shower-warmed body – Spike was calm.

 

At least – he thought he was.

 

He lay there, listening to her movements as she dressed herself in her pajamas, but not daring to open his eyes or do anything to give her any idea that he was still awake. He did not see the frown of concern on her face as she stopped at the side of the bed – was not even aware that he was still visibly shaking.

 

Dawn was sleeping on the far end of the bed, and Spike was as close as he could get to her without actually touching her (which seemed more than a little odd to Buffy in itself; why *wasn’t* he touching her, nestled close in his usual quest for reassurance?), so there was plenty of room for her to slide into the bed beside him.

 

Spike’s back was turned to her as she lay down, pulling the covers over them both again – enveloping him in the combined warmth of he body and her sister’s – and almost in spite of himself, Spike felt the tension in the taut muscles of his back begin to ease a bit.

 

Until she touched him.

 

Spike’s raw, violated nerves could not handle the unexpected touch of her soft, warm hand on his arm, or the cautious closeness of her body as she pressed in close behind him. Without meaning to, he flinched, his body going rigid under her hand, as he quickly suppressed a soft, panicked cry.

 

“Shhh,” Buffy whispered, not moving her hand from his arm, just gently stroking up and down in a soothing motion. “It’s okay – just me, Spike…it’s all right…”

 

He hesitated, his stomach roiling with the sickness of terror and confusion, trembling violently with fear of the consequences of allowing her to see his fear – and yet…he just could not help it.

 

He *needed* her – her arms around him, her soft, affectionate promises of protection.

 

He was terrified – and he needed her.

 

Before he could talk himself out of it, Spike suddenly turned in her arms, his head pressed to her breast, his hands at her sides, desperately clutching her to him, choking back sobs in a pitifully futile attempt to control his overwhelming emotions.

 

“It’s okay,” Buffy whispered, wrapping her arms around him and drawing him closer into her embrace. “I’m here, Spike – you’re safe…I’m right here…”

 

Her words only made him cry harder, knowing that he was *not* safe; his tormentor knew where he was – knew how to get him alone – and if he wanted to, he could hurt him again, any time he wanted.

 

And Buffy had no idea.

 

But she was holding him.

 

She cared about him, wanted to soothe his fears and give him the affection and care that he had desperately needed for so long – and at the moment, there was nothing he could do but to thirstily drink it in, clinging to her, his only lifeline in a terrifyingly hopeless situation.

 

“Spike – Baby,” she whispered, her gentle hand on his face tilting his head up to face her – though he could not bring himself to meet her eyes. “Sweetie, what is it? Did you have a bad dream?”

 

Raising his eyes to meet hers at last, only because he knew that she wanted him to, Spike could tell by the knowing look in her soft emerald eyes, the unquestioning tone of her question, that this was the story that Xander had told her – and he had no choice but to stick to it.

 

He lowered his eyes again, feeling guilty for the lie, as he nodded and whispered, “Y-yes…b-bad dream…”

 

Buffy’s lips gently brushed across his brow, as she shifted her body closer to him, surrounding him with her warmth, her support and compassion. She gently pressed his head back down against her chest, deliberately relieving him of the burden of making eye contact, as she whispered softly, “Wanna tell me about it?”

 

The tender invitation in her words, without demand or force, brought fresh tears to Spike’s eyes, and a tight ache to his chest, as he swallowed back the truth, that he was so desperate to spill out to her. He wanted to badly to tell her everything, to pour out the whole terrible story as best he could, and beg for her protection – but he knew that if he did, this sweet comfort would come to an end.

 

She would not believe him.

 

She would *hate* him.

 

She would give him back to *him* -- if *he* didn’t kill her first.

 

But – if she thought the source of his trembling and tears was some dark dream that had broken into his slumber – as long as he *kept* her thinking that – he could tell her *some* of what had happened – couldn’t he? There was no harm in that – and the secret, painful truth was ripping him to shreds inside. He simply *had* to let some of it out.

 

“Found me,” he whispered, his cool tears slowly soaking through her pajama top. “*Him*. He – found me. H-hurt me…” He hesitated, his trembling hands clutching at her weakly as he added in a soft, barely audible voice, “Hurt *you* -- D-dawn…”

 

Buffy’s breath caught in her throat at the stark pain and terror in his voice – driven by fear and desperation to speak more words at a time than she had heard from him yet. “Spike – Baby, no,” she assured him, dismayed by the content of those words, and what they revealed about his secret fears. “No, he can never find you here – never hurt you again! I’ll protect you, Sweetie, I promise!”

 

She had no way to know that her promise had already been broken.

 

But as the wounded vampire shook with a fresh tremor of fear in her arms, holding onto her for dear life, his tears still soaking through her shirt as he just shook his head slowly in silent misery – Buffy had to wonder again. She had told herself that she was through with wondering that – but she *had* to.

 

“Spike?” she whispered, pulling back from him a little and reaching down to tilt his face back up toward her. “Hey, look at me…”

 

Reluctantly he obeyed, tearful blue eyes focused on hers with apprehension.

 

“Spike – did something – did – anything else happen? Tonight?” she asked him cautiously, searching his gaze for any sign of some painful truth he might be trying to hide. “Did – did you see anyone – talk to anyone – besides me and Dawn?”

 

Spike’s eyes widened slightly, and he quickly averted his gaze, shaking his head rapidly. “No,” he whispered. “N-no…”

 

“It’s okay if you did,” she quickly assured him, her soothing hands running slowly up and down his arms, though she did not force him to look at her again. “I mean – you had a really bad nightmare, and – and Xander and Giles were both here for a while...did you – did you see either of them tonight?”

 

Spike’s mind raced with panic, terrified, having no idea what was the right answer to her questions – the one and only answer that would not, in the end, result in the destruction of himself and all those he cared about.

 

“Did – did anyone come up here?” Buffy pressed gently, seeking his downcast gaze. “I mean – while you were…dreaming?”

 

Spike raised his eyes back to hers, searching too, desperate for some sort of clue. Her slight leading nod – probably completely unintentional – revealed to him that this was the story she had been told, and he nodded firmly, holding her gaze.

 

“Who?” she asked softly.

 

“X-Xa…” he stumbled over the unfamiliar word, the word that represented his darkest fears.

 

“Xander?”

 

He nodded again, gratefully, with an effort suppressing the shudder that rose in him at the name.

 

Buffy was silent for a long moment, and when she spoke, her voice was slightly breathless, and weighted with dread.

 

“Did he – did he hurt you, Spike?”

 

Forcing himself not to look away, remembering enough of human communication to know that that would immediately give the truth away, Spike shook his head slowly. “N-no,” he whispered. “No h-hurt me.”

 

The relief and happiness in Buffy’s eyes at those words was almost worth the pain of keeping his secret, as she visibly relaxed, pulling him closer to her and replying softly, “I didn’t think so. I just – just wanted to be sure…”

 

As she spoke, she reached a tender hand up to cup the back of his head, running gently through his hair…and Spike could not hold back the startled little yelp of pain and fear, as her fingertips caught on a mat of blood that had formed not too long ago, unintentionally yanking at the freshly torn wound on the back of his head.

 

“Sorry!” she gasped automatically, withdrawing her hand and turning his head down in an attempt to examine the spot, though she could really see nothing in the dark. “Spike, I didn’t mean to, Sweetie…I thought that spot was almost healed!”

 

*It was,* he thought with an ominous feeling as she pulled away from him, rolling on her side to turn on the bedside lamp.

 

“Come here,” she instructed gently but firmly, as she pulled herself up to a sitting position on the bed, and pushed his shoulder so that he was leaning his head over her lap.

 

“P-please,” he whimpered, shaking again as the worst of his injuries was made vulnerable, exposed to her scrutiny, her touch, whatever she might choose to do to it.

 

“Shhh,” she soothed him gently, her eyes widening with alarm as she saw the spot where the barely healing flesh had torn open again, leaving a mat of caked blood in his soft, blonde curls. “Oh, Spike…what happened?”

 

Spike closed his eyes, his breath quickening with panic, as he struggled to come up with a convincing explanation.

 

*So stupid,* he cursed himself with vicious frustration. *If only I wasn’t so *stupid*!*

 

“N-nightmare,” he whispered, the words coming out without conscious thought. “Hit – hit the t-table…please…please…”

 

Buffy frowned for a moment, puzzled, before glancing to her side at the nightstand, and realizing that it must be what he was talking about. And it *did* make sense; if he had been in the throes of a nightmare, he very well might have knocked his head into the nightstand accidentally, and reopened his wound.

 

“Okay,” she said softly, being careful to keep her voice calm, since he obviously seemed to expect her to be angry, for some reason, judging by the way he was shaking, pleading, tears falling from his eyes once more. “It’s okay, Spike…you didn’t do anything wrong…it’s okay, Sweetheart…”

 

She pulled him gently up to face her – though he still refused to – and led him up out of the bed and to the bathroom, where she carefully and thoroughly bandaged the spot, to protect it from any further damage during the night. Washing the blood from his hair would have to wait until the morning, she decided. For now – they were both much too exhausted.

 

“Come on, Baby,” she murmured as she put her arm gently around him and led him back towards her room. “Let’s go back to bed…it’s been a long day…”

 

Relieved that she had accepted his explanations, and sheerly exhausted from the trauma and suffering of this painful night, Spike rested his aching, weary head on her shoulder, and simply accepted her gentle embrace – the only small comfort he could count on.

 

But he had no idea how long it would last.

 

He only knew that he would do anything – even keep his enemy’s secret – to hold onto it for as long as he possibly could.

 

*I won’t tell,* he assured himself again as he nestled down into the Slayer’s embrace in her bed, and tried to fall asleep. *No matter what, won’t -- *can’t* -- tell…*


	31. Chapter 31

By the time Xander parked his car outside his apartment building, Angel had already been waiting in the hallway outside his door for five minutes.  
  
He smirked to himself, well aware that the boy would have had no idea that he could have outrun his car, and beat him here.  
  
But he was about to find out.  
  
When Xander started down the hallway toward his apartment, only to see a still-very-angry Angel pacing the hall, waiting for him -- he abruptly changed direction, breaking into a run as he turned the corner to the left in an attempt to avoid the ensouled, but very dangerous, master vampire.  
  
Angel was much too fast for him.  
  
In a matter of moments, he had dragged Xander back down the hallway and held him pinned against his own door, one hand pressed over his mouth to keep him from screaming for help, and simultaneously tilting his head to the side, giving the glistening fangs poised at his throat much easier access.  
  
Golden eyes met fearful yet defiant brown ones for a moment, before Angel withdrew, a cold, predatory smile on his face.  
  
"How's it feel to be helpless, boy?" he snarled menacingly, shifting his hand from Xander's mouth to his throat, squeezing just hard enough to prevent the boy from calling out too loudly, but loosely enough to allow him to respond.  
  
"Buffy's gonna kill you," Xander rasped out, his hatred flashing in his dark eyes. "You can't get away with hurting me, Angel -- she's gonna know it's you -- after that scene at her house -- you can't do this..."

“See, that’s the thing,” Angel sneered quietly, very close to Xander’s face. “Maybe you’ve both pushed me too far tonight – you coming after Spike like that…her refusing to listen to reason about it...maybe I don’t *care* what Buffy wants anymore!”

 

“Yeah,” Xander laughed defiantly, though his dark eyes flashed with fear as the vampire tightened his grip on his throat just slightly. “You really expect me to believe that? You and Spike are both the same – you’ll *always* be obsessed with Buffy, no matter what happens!”

 

“Then I guess that makes us three of a kind – doesn’t it, boy?”

 

Xander was struck silent by that comment, a trapped sort of expression in his dark eyes as they suddenly met the gleaming golden gaze of the vampire.

 

“What? You thought I didn’t notice?” Angel smirked, but his eyes were flashing fury. “It’s obvious – and the same way I could smell Spike all over you – knew you’d been with him, and you’d scared him to a second death – I know what you’re thinking every single time you’re around Buffy, too!”

 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Xander insisted, struggling uselessly in the stronger man’s grip. “Buffy’s my friend – that’s all…”

 

“Damn right, that’s all!” Angel snarled. “And you’d better get that through your head, boy, before someone else gets hurt! What’s gonna happen when you decide that she’s spending too much time with someone else? If she starts dating someone – or heck, if she starts spending too much time with *Dawn*? You gonna try to take them out of the picture, too?”

 

“Of course not!” Xander retorted, his eyes widening with horror. “I’d *never* hurt Dawnie – and Buffy has the right to be with anybody she wants to…”

 

“You say it,” Angel shook his head, a tight smile on his lips, though his eyes were deadly serious. “But I really don’t think you mean it…”

 

“I do!” Xander insisted. “And besides, Spike was already out of the picture by the time…” His words cut off abruptly as he realized what he had almost said, and he looked back up at Angel, a trapped expression in his dark eyes.

 

“By the time what?” Angel demanded, latching onto the slip and refusing to let it go. “By the time you did what, Xander?”

 

“Nothing!” Xander’s voice was higher than usual now, and shaking slightly as he answered in a defensive tone. “I didn’t do anything, Angel! You’re wrong!”

 

Angel’s eyes narrowed with furious frustration, and he released the boy – only to draw back his fist and slam it down across Xander’s face, knocking his head back against the wall. The boy crumpled to the floor with a groan, his head lolling slightly as he struggled to remain conscious – and then, weakly, to pull himself back to his feet.

 

“Need some help with that, lad?” Angel asked him with a false cheer, his voice slipping just slightly into a long lost accent, as he reached down and dragged Xander back to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

 

It was just the slightest edge of an accent – but it set off an alarm in Angel’s mind, a quiet warning of just how close he was to losing control completely. Suddenly he wondered – was a single moment of happiness the *only* thing that could cause him to lose his soul? Because at the moment, blinding rage seemed to be bringing him very close.

 

Or perhaps – he had just never realized just how badly he could want to hurt someone – to *torture* them – to literally tear their weak, human body to pieces with his bare hands and fangs…and still have his soul intact.

 

“Let me go,” Xander slurred, shaking his head slightly as he gradually regained his senses from the powerful blow. “I’m gonna…”

 

“What?” Angel sneered. “What are you gonna do, Xander? A whole lot of nothing, boy, ‘cause that’s all you’re capable of at the moment!” His voice softened, taking on a chilling menace, as he leaned in closer and snarled, “You’re not dealing with a broken, brain damaged vampire now, boy – and I *don’t* have a chip in my head – so what. Are you going. To *do*?”

 

Xander flinched slightly at the dark threat in Angel’s words, but did not respond, his eyes darting to the sides as if looking for some means of escape.

 

“Maybe I should take you back down to those caves where Buffy found Spike. You know – the ones you’d already managed to scrub clean by the time I got there?” Angel’s dark gaze was piercing, finding things in Xander’s expression that the young man had thought were well-hidden. “You know – Lysol *does* eliminate 99.9% of odors -- *if* you happen to be human!”

 

Again, Xander had no response, his eyes widening further as he realized that there really was no way that he could have completely concealed his involvement in what had happened to Spike – not from Angel, who could smell even the faintest traces of scent left behind.

 

“You were there. And so was he. He was terrified – and you,” Angel’s voice darkened, lowered and trembling with outraged fury, as he finished dangerously, “you were getting off on it.”

 

“No,” Xander objected, shaking his head desperately. “You’re wrong…I wasn’t…”

 

“Quit *lying* to me, boy!” Angel practically roared, losing the fragile grip he held on his anger and slamming Xander forcefully against the wall behind him, eliciting a groan of pain from his lips.

 

Unfortunately, that was not the only reaction that Angel’s momentary loss of temper drew.

 

The door to an apartment a few yards down the hall opened abruptly, a middle aged man in a ragged blue bathrobe stepping out into the hallway, already complaining as he did.

 

“Keep it down out here! People are trying to…”

 

His voice broke off suddenly, his eyes widening with fear as he took in the monster that was pinning the young man to the wall a few yards down -- and as he watched, golden glowing eyes turned on him over wickedly grinning fangs...only the creature wasn't grinning....

 

He was growling.

 

"I'm calling security!" the man yelped, backpedalling toward his door again, wide eyes locked onto the surreal scene in the hallway. "No -- the police -- I'm calling the police!" he warned them, the door to his apartment slamming behind him, followed by the audible clicks of a lock and a deadbolt.

 

Angel barely had time to register the fact that he was going to have to either wrap things up, or take Xander elsewhere, before the police showed up – before Xander was suddenly tumbling backward, through the front door of his apartment, which he had managed to get open while Angel was distracted by his now very freaked out neighbor.

 

With a snarl of frustration, Angel slammed his fist against the invisible barrier that kept him from going after the nervously laughing young man, staggering to his feet with gleeful triumph in his dark eyes.

 

“No invite for you, Deadboy! Go push somebody else around!” Xander crowed – but he still took a hasty step backward when Angel let out an animalistic roar of rage, slamming both fists against the barrier again, as if he could break it down by sheer force of will.

                                                                                              

Which of course – he could not.

 

“Fine!” Angel snarled. “Stay in there! I don’t care if you *never* come out of there! But I’m warning you, whatever you do – you stay *away* from my childe, boy! Do you hear me? If I see you – hear of you -- *smell* you anywhere near Spike, ever again, Xander – I’m gonna rip you apart, boy. Very – very -- *slowly*, do you understand me?”

 

“Don’t you think you ought to get out of here?” Xander smirked, not even acknowledging his threats – though Angel took a small amount of satisfaction from the fact that the boy was still wiping blood from the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. “I mean – the police will be here any minute…and unless you wanna have to hurt a human…though, gotta say, that probably wouldn’t bother you much right now…”

 

“Not if it’s you,” Angel replied without hesitation, through teeth gritted with frustration.

 

“Who knows, we might even get lucky. If the cops have any idea of what a threat you really are – you might just get to experience a gunshot to the head yourself – see what it’s like for poor little Spike,” Xander sneered, an exaggerated pout of false sympathy on his face, though his eyes were dancing with cruel laughter.

 

Angel couldn’t help one more useless attempt to get at the boy, although the barrier, of course, held firm.

 

“I meant what I said, Xander,” he ground out the words, his voice low and dark and filled with the frustration of not being able to make the boy pay for his pitiless mockery of his childe – for *everything* he had done to his childe. “Don’t come near Spike. Ever. If you do – I *will* kill you.”

 

**********************************

 

When Spike awakened the next morning, there was a blissful few seconds in which all he was aware of was the warmth and closeness of his two protectors – Dawn on the one side, and Buffy on the other – surrounding him with a sense of safety and affection, making him feel as if all was right in his world, and nothing could harm him.

 

Until a slight shift of his head pulled at the bandage on the back of it, causing a twinge of pain which was really not that bad – but served to remind him of the truth.

 

*Nothing* was right.

 

And his tormentor definitely *could* harm him.

 

He glanced to the side at Buffy, wondering how long he had before he had to take up the act again, pretend to her that he was okay – relatively speaking – and found to his dismay that he had no time at all.

 

She was awake, and gazing at him with a warm, sleepy smile of tender concern.

 

“Good morning, Spike,” she murmured, just the hint of a frown creasing her brow as she raised a hand to stroke down his taut, fearful face. “You okay, Sweetie?”

 

Spike nodded, his wide eyes focused on hers, much more solemn than he wanted them to be.

 

“You sure?” she asked him gently.

 

He nodded again automatically, though he knew that he could not be in the least bit convincing. Buffy studied his expression thoughtfully for a long moment – and then, apparently, decided to let it go for the moment.

 

“Okay,” she whispered, touching her lips to his brow in a gentle show of affection that sent a little thrill through him, despite his fears. “You hungry?”

 

Finally – a question that he could answer honestly.

 

He nodded again, more enthusiastically, as he felt Dawn begin to stir on his other side.

 

Buffy laughed quietly, as she rolled over and sat up on the edge of the bed, gaining her first-thing-in-the-morning bearings before getting up to go prepare breakfast for all of them.

 

“You wanna come downstairs with me, or you wanna stay here and rest some more?” she asked him over her shoulder, as she rose from the bed and pulled her soft, bright pink robe on over her pajamas.

 

Although by now, Spike understood most of the words she had spoken – understood most of what she said most of the time, actually, at least enough to get by – he did not respond at first.

 

He was simply not used to being given an option.

 

Also – he had no idea which option he wanted.

 

He wanted to be near Buffy; even though she had failed to protect him from her friend, not knowing that he was the one who had hurt him to begin with – he knew that she was very powerful, and she seemed to genuinely care for him, at least a little. But, if he did go downstairs with her, he would have to be careful so as not to do anything to arouse her suspicions, as he had done last night.

 

He was so very stupid, he thought with a sense of shame, just as Xander had said; he did not seem to be able to keep up a convincing act for long.

 

But he *had* to – the lives of the girls depended on it.

 

Just – not yet.

 

“Rest,” he replied softly, his voice quiet and hesitant, as he suddenly wondered what *Buffy* would have preferred that he do. “Please? Please rest?”

 

Buffy turned to face him, her expression softening with compassion at the anxious uncertainty in his voice. “Of course, Spike, that’s fine…you just rest a little while longer, I’ll come get you when your breakfast is ready.”

 

It was a strange combination of emotions – the relaxing sensation of relief as she walked out the bedroom door, combined with the desire to follow after her, or plead with her not to go.

 

He wanted to be with her – and yet he was terrified to be, afraid of giving some vital something away.

 

A few minutes after Buffy left the room, Dawn woke up. After giving Spike a warm greeting, she excused herself to her own room to get dressed, leaving him in quiet solitude, which would have actually been nice, for a change – had it not given his increasingly capable (if still a bit weak) mind that much more time to build upon the fears circling through it, shark-like, devouring any shred of hope he might dare to cling to.

 

But as he lay there, thinking about the situation he found himself in now – the events of the night before, and Buffy’s reaction to what little she knew – he began to form the beginnings of a fledgling plan in his mind.

 

He just had to hide his fear, when Xander was around – treat him just as he treated Buffy, or Dawn, or the older man that Buffy had said was a friend – the one who had yelled at him and frightened him, but actually seemed to be all right, now that he was used to him. If he made no difference in the way he behaved around Xander, then there was no way that Buffy could guess the truth about her friend…

 

…and no reason for the boy to hurt her or Dawn.

 

But apparently – Xander didn’t *need* a reason to hurt *him*.

 

*Just stay close to Buffy,* Spike thought, as he felt the tremors building in his stomach at the sickeningly dreadful thought of having to be alone with Xander again. *He won’t hurt you in front of her – he doesn’t want her to know – just stay close – and no one will ever have to know – and you’ll be safe – and *they’ll* be safe…it’ll be okay…*

 

He had almost managed to convince himself that Dawn and Buffy and the secret protecting them were all safe, when Dawn returned to the room – fully dressed, but with a troubled expression on her face, as she sat back down on the edge of the bed, and faced him full on, her wide blue eyes searching his with apprehension.

 

“Spike,” she said softly, her knowing, heavy tone sending a fresh wave of sick fear through him, “is there something you want to tell me?”


	32. Chapter 32

“Spike? Is there something you want to tell me?”

 

Spike just stared at the girl, wide-eyed, feeling completely trapped – and having absolutely no idea how she could possibly know – but -- *did she*?

 

He shook his head, too emphatically, looking away from her quickly before she could see the sudden intensifying of the ever-present fear in his eyes. “N-no,” he whispered, edging slightly away from her across the mattress, without even realizing he was doing it.

 

Dawn was young – but she had never been stupid.

 

It was immediately obvious to her that Spike was hiding something.

 

“Um – okay,” she began slowly, taking a deep breath as she tried to think of a way to get past Spike’s fear and get him to be honest with her – and came up with nothing. She looked up at him, her piercing blue gaze boring into him until he felt no choice but to meet it again. “Spike – no one’s gonna hurt you. I promise. I just want you to – to tell me what happened, okay?”

 

“N-nothing,” Spike insisted, his voice trembling as he shook his head, drawing back further against the headboard. “Nothing – h-happen. Please…”

 

Dawn felt a surge of anger fill her at Spike’s repeated reversion to pleading, as if she would hurt him just for not giving her the answer she apparently wanted – but it was not directed at the frightened, shaking vampire who seemed to be trying to press himself physically into the headboard in an attempt to get away from her.

 

*If I ever get my hands on whoever did this,* she vowed silently. *I’ll tear them apart myself. I don’t care if they’re ten times as strong as me – I’ll kill them…*

 

A troubled, sick feeling came over her at the thoughts that followed that one, but she shook her head slightly, trying to clear them for the moment.

 

Right now – she had to focus on Spike.

 

And the alarming bloodstain she had just found on her bedroom wall.

 

“Spike,” she said, making her voice firm as well as gentle, as she purposefully turned onto her knees on the bed, crawling across it to close the distance between them and placing her hands on his shoulders, deliberately ignoring the way he flinched away from her as she went on, “Look at me.”

 

He winced slightly, obviously not wanting to obey – but unable to do anything else.

 

Holding his gaze, Dawn shook her head slightly as she reminded him intently, “Spike – you *know* I’m not going to hurt you – no matter what. You know that. So you don’t have to be afraid to tell me the truth. What happened?”

 

Spike stared at her, his emotional anguish showing clearly in his eyes. He shook his head pleadingly, aching to make her understand – and terrified that she would understand too much. “N-not afraid – not *you*,” he struggled to explain.

 

Dawn’s eyes widened slightly, as she realized what he was saying.

 

He wasn’t afraid to tell her because of what *she* might do.

 

But – if he wasn’t afraid of *her* -- then…who…?

 

A sick, fearful feeling came over her, as she thought again of the bloodstain on her wall – and wondered again how it had come to be there. Something deep inside her whispered insistently that she already had a very good idea – but the rest of her quickly silenced that part, desperately not wanting to believe it.

 

She opened her mouth, ready to tell him that he was safe here – that nobody could hurt him – that it was okay to tell the truth.

 

But -- *was* he safe?

 

The blood on her bedroom wall made her wonder.

 

“Good,” she answered simply at last. “Just so you know that.”

 

She gave him a sad, reassuring smile as she leaned in close to give him a gentle hug, which he gratefully sank into, holding onto her desperately for a few long moments, until Dawn slowly pulled away, looking him in the eye again.

 

“I’m gonna go down and see if Buffy needs any help with breakfast. It kinda sounds like she’s – tearing up the kitchen. Or – maybe some daylight demon broke in, and she’s trying to keep *it* from tearing up the kitchen,” she shrugged playfully as she rose and started toward the door. “Either way – she could probably use some help.”

 

Spike hesitated a moment, and then started to rise to go with her, his eyes focused on hers uncertainly for some cue as to what he was to do.

 

Dawn held up a hand, shaking her head slightly. “Wait – you just wait here, okay, Spike? I’ll come get you when your breakfast is ready – okay?”

 

Spike nodded, though he still looked very anxious as he studied her expression, still obviously afraid that he had said or done something wrong. She reached down and took his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, before turning and heading out the door.

 

She knew by the slight edge of panic she saw in his eyes that Spike would rather have gone with her, and she felt guilty for deliberately leaving him behind – but she had to talk to her sister, and she really felt that it would be better for Spike not to be there when she did.

 

If Spike wouldn’t talk to her – maybe Buffy would.

 

***********************************

 

Ten minutes later, Buffy and Dawn were both standing in Dawn’s bedroom, frowning at the disturbing spot of dried blood on her wall. Buffy’s eyes were wide and troubled, as she reached a hand slowly toward it, without actually touching it, shaking her head slightly before turning questioning eyes on Dawn.

 

“You don’t know how it got there?”

 

“No idea,” Dawn confirmed, staring at the spot. “It was there this morning when I came in here to get dressed.”

 

Buffy’s mind immediately went to the mysterious re-opening of the wound on the back of Spike’s head – and the telling fact that the spot on the wall seemed to be at the precise height where Spike’s head would have had to have been, if the blood was indeed from that very wound.

 

“Any ideas?” Dawn asked her sister, her voice low and grim.

 

“One or two,” Buffy replied without hesitation, glancing toward the doorway. “Spike – um – Spike hurt his head last night. He said he hit it on the nightstand – but – I’m kinda thinking not.”

 

“Does he seem – like, really, *really* freaked out this morning to you?”

 

Buffy nodded silently, looking away with a troubled, thoughtful expression on her face. “Yeah. Something – something happened last night that he’s not telling us about.”

 

“How?” Dawn asked, confused. “I mean – nobody was here last night but us – and Giles, and – and Xander…” Her voice trailed off in an oddly hesitant way that drew Buffy’s eyes back up to hers, and brought fears back to her mind that she had tried her best to forget.

 

“Buffy – you don’t think…?”

 

“Don’t.” Buffy cut her sister off sharply, before she could voice those fears. “Dawnie – don’t say it…you know it’s not possible…Xander wouldn’t have – couldn’t…”

 

“How did you know I was going to say Xander?”

 

Dawn’s voice was still, clear, as she turned sharp, crystal blue eyes on her sister’s face in a puzzled question – and Buffy did not want to answer the question, though she understood why Dawn was asking it. Dawn had fallen asleep while she was gone, and Xander and Giles were sitting in her living room, and had not awakened since then – so she had no way of knowing about all that had happened between Buffy, Angel, and Xander when Buffy had gotten home.

 

But – there was still a question in Buffy’s mind, as she looked up at her younger but taller sister again.

 

“Why *were* you going to say Xander?”

 

Dawn looked down again, suddenly self-conscious. “I – I don’t know, really. I – I had a dream…I mean…I *thought* it was a dream…I thought it *had* to be a dream…” She found herself stumbling over the words, words that she really did not want to allow to come out – because once she had voiced the terrible things in her head – didn’t that make them real?

 

And what she was thinking *couldn’t* be real – could it?

 

“What was it?” Buffy pressed her, visibly steeling herself to hear what her sister had to say – no more eager to hear it than Dawn was to say it. “What was your dream?”

 

“It was – so vivid. One of those dreams that you think is real while it’s happening – like *really* real – I don’t know…maybe it *was*…”

 

“Just tell me,” Buffy cut her off, her voice shaking dangerously, her eyes glittering with tears that took her by surprise, and that she could not explain.

 

She had a terrified, sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach – as if her subconscious already knew what she was still avoiding consciously accepting…that her entire world was about to be tilted on its axis and spun into disorder.

 

“Well – I dreamed that – Xander came into the room while I was sleeping, only – only it wasn’t Xander,” Dawn shook her head, frowning in dismay as she remembered. “It *couldn’t* have been…he was so – so *mean*, Buffy – so – threatening…he made Spike go to him, and he – he hurt him – I know because in my dream – I heard Spike make this – this awful sound, like he was – hurt – and then – they were both gone…that’s all…it was – it was just a dream…I know it was just a dream…”

 

When Dawn looked back at her sister, her own eyes were welling with tears, desperate, seeking for some reassurance, a refuting of her fears, as she whispered shakily, “It *was* just a dream – wasn’t it?”

 

“It had to be,” Buffy whispered – but the response was clearly automatic. “It could have just been because of the way Spike reacted to Xander last night before you went to sleep. Except…”

 

“Except what?” Dawn prompted her, breathless with her dread of hearing the rest of the statement.

 

“Xander told me he’d run into Angel last night – and that’s why Spike freaked out when he saw him – except…when I got to Angel’s…he – he got me thinking…” Buffy hesitated before adding slowly, “Angel thinks Xander did it. He thinks he shot Spike.”

 

Dawn swallowed hard, visibly forcing herself to consider the possibility that was so very repugnant to her. “Which – would explain Spike’s reaction to Xander…”

 

Buffy nodded slowly. “And then – when we got back here – Angel said he could – smell Spike all over Xander. Like Xander’d been around him recently. I didn’t believe him – I made them both leave…but…when I came up to check on Spike…he was totally freaked, still…not asleep. And – the wound on his head had re-opened.”

 

“And there’s blood on my wall,” Dawn observed, her voice low and troubled. “As if someone – took him in there – and hurt him…”

 

“He said no one hurt him. He said he *did* see Xander – he said he was having a nightmare – but no one – actually hurt him.”

 

Dawn grasped at that eagerly, desperately wanting some reason to doubt the terrible theory taking shape in both of their minds. “Well, if he said no one…”

 

“I think he lied.”

 

Dawn was silent for a long moment. Finally, she sighed deeply and replied, “Yeah. Like if someone *did* hurt him, he’d actually tell us. If they went to all the trouble to hurt him -- *whoever* it was – they’d certainly do their best to be sure he wasn’t gonna tell anyone.”

 

“He was scared to death last night, Dawnie,” Buffy told her, her voice soft and heavy with sorrow. “And this morning.”

 

“Buffy – do you really think - *Xander*…”

 

“I hope not, Dawnie. I really hope not. But – we really can’t be totally sure, can we?” Buffy finally admitted – and just that relatively small admission was incredibly difficult for her. “I mean – Xander never really liked Spike…”

 

“Yeah,” Dawn agreed, a slight note of anger beginning in her voice, her eyes narrowing, sending the tears in her eyes rolling down her face. “And I mean – Spike’s just a vampire, right? As far as Xander’s concerned, a non-person – right? Why would he have any problem hurting him?”

 

Bothered by the bitter sound of her voice, Buffy frowned, reminding her cautiously, “We don’t know for sure, Dawnie. I asked Spike specifically if Xander hurt him – and he said no. I mean – it’s possible he lied, but – we just – have to consider it,” she sighed. “I don’t want to – but we have to.”

 

“So – what do we do?” Dawn asked, her voice softening as she looked to her older sister for direction, the situation seeming just far too much for her to deal with on her own. “I mean – if Xander *didn’t* do it…he’s our friend, Buffy…but…if he did…”

 

“We just have to be careful,” Buffy said softly. “Not let him around Spike alone for a while – at least until we know for sure…”

 

Dawn nodded. “And we have to figure out who did it as soon as we can. So – if it’s *not* Xander – we can stop worrying about it.”

 

“Right,” Buffy nodded. “But until then – we don’t need to leave Spike alone with *anyone*. If Xander’s a suspect…” She shook her head, her eyes wide with the horror of even attempting to accept that idea, “…then *everyone’s* a suspect, Dawn.”

 

Dawn nodded her agreement to that plan, relief in her eyes. “Good. That way at least we know he’s safe.”

 

A silent moment passed between them, before Dawn’s brow creased in a frown, and she quirked a brow at her sister. “Um – Buffy – in that case – shouldn’t someone be with him right *now*?”

 

“Well,” Buffy thought for a moment. “When it’s just us in the house, I think sometimes he’s going to need a little space, you know? I mean – he’s going through a lot of stuff we don’t necessarily understand, Dawnie -- *he* probably doesn’t even understand it – and he’s gonna need some just-Spike-time to work through it sometimes…but when anybody else is in this house…or we’re out somewhere…we can never leave him alone…”

 

Dawn nodded her silent acceptance.

 

“Still,” Buffy added with a slightly sheepish smile, “he’s probably getting hungry. Let’s go get Spike, and go have breakfast.”

 

******************************

In the end, Dawn went downstairs to finish preparing breakfast, while Buffy made her way into the bedroom to talk to Spike.

 

He immediately knew by the look on her face that she *knew*.

 

His eyes widened in panic and he shook his head as he instinctively backed away from her, fearful of her reaction to his lie – and Xander’s reaction to the revealed truth. “Please,” he whispered tremulously. “Please, Buffy – sorry…”

 

“Spike,” Buffy said gently but firmly, moving swiftly across the room and onto the bed, taking him by the arms before he could withdraw too far – wanting to head off his fear before it could really begin. “It’s okay – I’m not mad at you – it’s okay, Spike…”

 

“Sorry,” he repeated, shaking his head, his eyes closed in denial of the situation, though he did not try to pull away from her – perhaps he did not dare. “Sorry…”

 

“Spike – you have nothing to be sorry for,” Buffy reassured him. “Look at me, Spike.”

 

He winced slightly, obviously not wanting to obey – though he could do nothing else.

 

But – all he saw in her expression was compassion.

 

“I know somebody hurt you last night,” she informed him softly, holding his gaze and not letting go. “Don’t try to tell me they didn’t – because I *know*…”

 

Spike’s shaking intensified, and he *did* try to pull away, his eyes averted in a panicked attempt to keep her from seeing the truth – though his sinking heart already knew that she was telling the truth.

 

“What I don’t know,” Buffy went on cautiously, gently, leaning back against the headboard and putting her arm around him, trying to get him to relax a little, “is who.” Despite the immediate tension she felt in his body, the instinctive resistance against her arm around him, Buffy just held onto him, turning his face back toward her with her free hand, as she asked him plainly, “Who hurt you, Spike?”

 

He shook his head emphatically, his eyes pleading with her as he whispered, “No one – no one hurt…no…please…Buffy, please, no…” Unable to pull away from her gently restraining arms, seeing the unyielding expression in her eyes that told him she was not believing him at all – Spike completely broke down. “Please, Buffy – please no…” he sobbed, shaking his head as he bowed it between them, unable to look at her.

 

“Shh,” she whispered, soothing him as she relented with a pang of guilt for pushing him at all. “It’s okay – I know you’re scared, Spike – and of course you are. Whoever hurt you did it again last night – right here in my house – after I’d promised to protect you. I’m so sorry, Spike…”

 

He shook his head slowly, a desperate ache in his chest – utterly beyond words.

 

“I won’t make you tell me, Spike,” she assured him gently. “I won’t make you do anything you’re scared to do – I just want you to know that from now on – you *will* be safe. I promise…look at me, Sweetie…”

 

He allowed her to tilt his chin up to look at her, though his eyes were full of fear and shame.

 

“I don’t know who did this – and you don’t wanna tell me – so until I *do* know – I’m not going to let anybody be alone with you, Spike. *No one*. Just me and Dawnie – how does that sound?”

 

Spike’s eyes widened with surprise – shining with a sudden spark of hope, as he realized what she was saying.

 

“Does that sound good?” she asked him, tenderly running the backs of her fingertips down his tear-streaked face.

 

He hesitated just a moment, thinking about it, before a small, hesitant smile rose to his lips – and he nodded eagerly. “Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, please, Buffy…yes…”

 

“Okay,” she decided with a nod. “If it’s just us – then we *know* no one can hurt you. That’s it. You’re safe – okay?”

 

Spike nodded again, inexplicably breaking down for the second time. But this time, as he let his tears flow, resting his head on Buffy’s shoulder, allowing her to hold him and soothe away his fears – his tears were tears of joy and relief.

 

“Now,” Buffy said at last, pulling back and smiling warmly into his eyes. “Let’s go get something to eat. I don’t know about you, but I’m starving!”

 


	33. Chapter 33

Reassured by Buffy’s promise not to allow anyone to be alone with him, Spike found himself relaxing bit by bit, gradually throughout the course of the day.

 

He was still firmly convinced that he could not allow Buffy to know that it was Xander who had hurt him. The boy’s vicious threats still echoed in his ears, louder than all the promises he had heard from Buffy and Dawn during the past couple of days. No matter how strongly Buffy insisted that she would protect him, Xander was obviously too close to her.

 

If it came down to a choice – Spike was certain that Buffy would choose Xander over him.

 

Most likely, she would not even believe him at all.

 

And if she did – she and Dawn would be in danger.

 

He knew that he had to keep the secret that had been forced upon him; but the knowledge that Buffy was not going to leave him alone was very reassuring. Xander would not like it, he knew – but as long as Buffy was there, what could he do about it?

 

Cautiously, Spike began to allow himself to feel at least a little bit safe again.

 

Breakfast was pleasant. Spike drank two large mugs of blood, while Buffy and Dawn filled their plates with pancakes and sausage. Curious, Spike asked Dawn to identify the unfamiliar items on her plate, and she gladly obliged, willing to do whatever she could to help her friend readjust to the world around him.

 

Then, remembering how much Spike used to like human food – something she had learned about him during that long, painful summer following Buffy’s death, when Spike had practically lived at the Summers’ house – Dawn had offered him a bite of her pancakes.

 

Spike hesitated a moment, though it was obvious that he *wanted* to taste them.

 

“Come on, Spike – it’s okay, you can try it. You’ll like it.”

 

In the end – Spike’s breakfast had consisted of two large mugs of blood, seven pancakes, and five sausage patties…all washed down with two generous glasses of orange juice.

 

Buffy had asked for the day off from the Doublemeat Palace, and Dawn’s school year had just come to a close, so the three of them spent the afternoon relaxing at home, using the television as an educational tool for Spike. They did their best to explain anything he saw that seemed to confuse him; and although at times it was almost a game of charades, trying to explain certain things for which he did not yet have the words – most of it seemed to get through.

 

Of course, when Giles arrived late that afternoon to help with Spike’s education – he was utterly horrified. He happened to walk in right in the middle of a particularly violent episode of the Jerry Springer show. Buffy and Dawn were exchanging looks, obviously trying not to laugh out loud and hurt the feelings of the entranced vampire who was staring, fascinated, at the screen where the tiny people yelled unintelligible beeping sounds and hurled chairs at each other.

 

Had they been life-sized, he would certainly have been thrown into a panic – but those tiny people in the television were clearly too small to pose any threat to him. He found their frenetic movements and energetic speech enthralling; and in an odd way, the violence of it all – violence, for once, *not* directed at him – called to him, bringing back the memory of feelings, emotions, without the specific memories of the events that had caused those feelings.

 

Although Buffy had not really thought about it when she turned the television on, she was beginning to think, watching Spike’s reactions, that the tacky talk show might actually be a benefit to him.

 

Giles, apparently, felt differently about it.

 

“Bloody hell,” he muttered as he closed the door behind him and made his way slowly into the living room.

 

Spike jumped a mile, his attention immediately shifting from the television to the man who had just entered the room, his body automatically pressing back against the back of the couch, and Buffy’s arm across it. He reminded himself that this man had not hurt him, that Buffy had said that he could trust Giles – Giles wouldn’t hurt him.

 

*She said that about Xander, too,* a treacherous voice in his head pointed out, and he glanced anxiously up at the Slayer, a questioning look in his wide blue eyes.

 

Buffy almost automatically reacted to his fear, wrapping her arm casually around his shoulders and squeezing gently, reassuringly, while giving her Watcher a sheepish smile.

 

“Fight scenes,” she stated by way of explanation. “Eventually he’s gonna have to know how to fight again, right? I mean, this *is* still a Hellmouth.”

 

“And tawdry, exploitative talk programs showcasing the worst examples of humanity’s moral values are the proper way of teaching him how to fight?” Giles raised a single eyebrow, his ice blue eyes piercing, and vaguely amused over a faint smirk.

 

Buffy shrugged, her own amusement matching his, as she glanced at Spike with affection, and then back to the television screen. “Whatever works.”

 

Spike tensed slightly, watching Giles warily as he proceeded into the living room and sat down in the armchair across from the couch. Dawn sensed his anxiety – which wasn’t exactly difficult to see – and reached over to take his hand in hers, offering him her silent support.

 

Spike immediately felt better, surrounded by the protective love of his girls – and within minutes, he was too caught up in the fascinating game that Buffy, Dawn, and Giles made of his learning to even think about being scared, for the time being – which was saying a lot.

 

Buffy was thrilled with how quickly Spike was learning. Since the moment when he had regained his sight, he seemed to be picking up new things every minute – and now, although he was not quite able to vocalize everything just yet, it was rare that he would not understand the basic idea of what was being said when someone spoke to him.

 

Still, he seemed to tire easily, still weak from months of starvation and abuse. After about an hour or so of working with his three well-intentioned teachers, Spike began to look a little lost, a little confused – and they decided that their accomplishments were more than enough for the day.

 

That was when Buffy took Giles aside into the kitchen, leaving Spike with Dawn, while she took the opportunity to fill him in on the events of the past couple of days.

 

He was understandably upset.

 

“Buffy,” he impatiently argued, shaking his head incredulously, “you cannot mean to tell me that you actually believe that *Xander* could have been the one who…”

 

“No,” Buffy hurried to interrupt him, her own eyes showing something akin to panic at his voicing her worst fears aloud. “I mean – I don’t think – I don’t *know*, Giles!” she finally admitted, misery in her eyes as they wordlessly pleaded with her surrogate father to make everything make sense again. “I mean – I don’t *want* to think that – but…so far, Xander’s the one that seems to make Spike more scared than anyone! You saw how he acted the other night…”

 

“Yes, but you said that he has behaved that way with all men thus far, correct?” Giles reminded her. “Even myself.”

 

“You know it was different.” Buffy’s voice was quiet, heavy with a grim knowledge that her heart wanted her mind to reject. “The way he acted with Xander, and the way he acted with you. You have to know that.”

 

Giles was silent for the moment, unable to deny it.

 

“There has to be another explanation,” he said at last.

 

“I really, really hope there is,” Buffy nodded slowly, her expression grim as she met her Watcher’s eyes. “But until we know -- *everyone’s* a suspect, you know? *Nobody* but me and Dawn will be alone with Spike, ever. No one’s gonna get the chance to hurt him again. Someone already did, right here in my own house – but it *won’t* happen again!”

 

Giles’ tone was guarded, cautious – still very resistant to seeing the boy he regarded like a son in the light of the vicious, sadistic torturer who had so broken Spike – as he replied with a nod of acceptance, “That does seem to be the wisest course, Buffy…at least, until Spike feels safe enough to confide in you the identity of his abuser – if he even knows it.”

 

Buffy felt a dark, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that told her that there was no doubt in her mind as to whether or not Spike knew the identity of his abuser.

 

But *she* did not know it; she didn’t *want* to. Not yet.

 

*Not ever,* her heart pleaded, desperate to avoid the pain of the truth that she could not quite make herself accept – yet.

 

It was at that moment that Buffy heard the doorbell ring again.

 

“Wow,” she muttered as she headed toward the living room, Giles behind her. “Bring one wounded, brain damaged vampire into your house, and suddenly everyone wants to visit all the time. What’s up with that?”

 

She received no answer, as she had expected none, as she made her way to the door and opened it – and her breath caught in her throat, at the sudden, unexpected sensation of guilt that accompanied the sight of Angel’s serious, searching gaze.

 

And why should she feel guilty? she demanded of herself, feeling a sense of defensive irritation. It wasn’t as if she *knew* for a fact that Angel had been right the night before – he very well could have been totally wrong.

 

But she *did* feel guilty, just the same, for dismissing his claims so easily, threatening him and turning him out.

 

Because someone *had* hurt Spike that night – and he had tried to tell her that the younger vampire was in danger.

 

But she had not wanted to hear it.

 

“Hey, Buffy,” he said simply, his perpetually sad smile holding no trace of accusation.

 

She sighed wearily, meeting his eyes with resignation, and a hint of a silent apology, as she stood back from the door and replied, “Hey, Angel – come on in.”

 

The moment the dark vampire had stepped through the door, Buffy took his hand without a word and led him toward the kitchen she had just come from. He followed without a word, surprised, but trusting that there was a reason for her behavior, and that he would soon find out what it was.

 

He just hoped that Xander had not been here before him, and that her purpose for taking him to the relative privacy of the kitchen was not to shove a wooden spoon through his heart.

 

Once the kitchen door had swung shut behind them, Buffy released Angel’s hand and turned to face him, her arms crossed over her chest, as she stared at him with a solemn resignation. For a moment she was silent, the look in her eyes telling him that she had yet to decide what she wanted to say. When she *did* speak, her words took him by surprise.

 

“Someone hurt Spike last night.”

 

Angel’s eyes widened – and then narrowed again, a low growl rising in his throat.

 

“Hold up, Papa Bear,” she said dryly, “we have no idea who did it. But – but – I’m ready to face the facts when we find out – no matter *who* it is.”

 

Angel frowned slightly, momentarily confused, before his eyes widened as he realized what she was saying. “So you believe me? Finally! Buffy, I’m so…”

 

“I didn’t say that,” she cut him off warningly, meeting his eyes with just a hint of irritation – but mostly a heartsick sort of fear – in her own. “I mean – I’m not saying I *don’t* believe you – I mean – you *could* be right. I just – don’t know yet. You know? I’m not letting anyone near Spike without me or Dawn there, so we’ll know that he’s safe, at least, until we figure this out. I just – I just don’t know, Angel.”

 

He was silent for a moment, studying her expression, and she could see the slight disappointment in his eyes – but also the greater relief.

 

“Well – that’s something,” he nodded, releasing a deep breath. “At least that way no one can hurt him. But I’m telling you, Buffy – I know who did it. There’s not a doubt in my mind…”

 

“Angel, don’t…”

 

“He was in the Initiative caves. Where you found Spike.”

 

Buffy was silent, stunned by his sudden revelation, her stricken emerald gaze focused on him in startled dismay. “How do you…”

 

“I smelled him there, Buffy. It was very faint – and he’d tried to clean up the place, eliminate any remaining traces of scent there – but he couldn’t quite do it. I could still tell that he’d been there…”

 

“Xander’s been in those caves before,” Buffy pointed out, a defensive note in her voice. “Many times. It could have just been a faint trace…”

 

“No, Buffy – I could tell the difference if that was the case. And it had to be someone that knew I was here – because otherwise why would they have gone to the trouble to try to wipe out scents that no human could even tell were there?” Angel argued quietly.

 

Buffy had no answer for that. The only people she knew of who knew that Angel was in town were herself, Dawn, Anya, Xander and Riley.

 

*Riley…maybe…* she thought – and then suddenly wondered if it was wrong of her to actually *hope* that it was her ex-boyfriend who had committed the terrible acts against Spike, if only it would clear her best friend.

 

“Spike won’t say anything?” Angel said softly after a moment, recognizing that Buffy was not quite ready to accept the truth yet.  “He won’t tell you who it was?”

 

Buffy shook her head sadly. “No. He’s pretty freaked out, still. He’s scared to death, really – and I’m not going to force him to do anything. He’ll tell me, in his own time, once he knows that I’m going to protect him – and that might take a while, after last night.”

 

“I want to help you protect him, Buffy,” Angel informed her, a quiet certainty to his voice and his dark, pleading brown eyes. “I want to – to help him get well. I know I can, Buffy. I’m his sire. I know you might not get that, but it *means* something. I’d – I’d really like to see him…”

 

Buffy hesitated, her mind going back to the other night, and Spike’s strange reaction to Angel. She tended to believe the older vampire’s explanation – and yet, the entire thing just did not quite sit right with her. Maybe it was the hints of past domination that the whole thing brought to mind – or her Slayer side’s dislike of the intense relationship between the two vampires….

 

…or her *human* side’s dislike of the intense relationship between the two vampires…

 

Before she could even begin to formulate an answer, the doorbell rang yet again – and beside her, Angel tensed visibly.

 

“What?” she asked, her eyes widening with alarm.

 

“It’s Xander.”

 

Buffy frowned, puzzled. “You can smell him from here? That’s gross…”  
  


“No,” Angel corrected her, his dark eyes smoldering with fury. “I can’t. But Spike can, from the living room. And he’s terrified. I can *feel* it from here.”

 

“He gets scared whenever the doorbell rings,” Buffy argued, but her voice was trembling slightly as she headed back toward the living room – hoping against hope that when she opened the door, it would not be her best friend on the other side.

 

But it was.

 

“Hey, Buffy,” Xander smiled disarmingly as he walked in the door, shooting Angel a dirty look as he made his way into the living room, seemingly unaware of the distrustful, uncomfortable expressions on the faces of the others in the room.

 

Except for Spike.

 

His reaction was impossible to miss.

 

The blonde vampire panicked – jerking free of Dawn’s gentle embrace, and fleeing up the stairs.

 

And Buffy’s heart sank just a little more under the dreadful weight of the truth, as she invited her best friend inside.


	34. Chapter 34

Even as he fled the room, Spike’s mind was warning him that he had just made a terrible mistake. He should have just done as he had originally planned, and acted completely normal with Xander – made sure that Buffy did not suspect anything – done his best to keep the secret.

 

But in that moment, when the safety of that warm, pleasant, reassuring day he had just had was suddenly threatened by the intrusion of his feared enemy – Spike had forgotten what he was supposed to do, what Xander had ordered him to do. All he had known in that moment was that he could not stay in that room with Xander a moment longer.

 

Once he was upstairs, the bedroom door firmly shut behind him, his panic subsided into a sort of sick, heavy dread.

 

He had failed.

 

Buffy and Dawn had to suspect something now – he just knew it! They had to wonder about his rather consistent reaction to the boy’s presence – and worse, Xander had to know that they were wondering. Oh, certainly the boy would find a way to explain away Spike’s momentary lapse of control, to convince the girls that his reaction was not really about *Xander* personally, so much as a general result of the trauma he had been through.

 

And then, once he had soothed their suspicions, he would find a way to get Spike alone – and punish him.

 

When the door swung open only a few minutes later, Spike leapt up from the bed where he was sitting – backing quickly away a few steps, his glimmering blue eyes wide with terror – absolutely certain, in that moment, that it was Xander.

 

But it was Dawn.

 

The soft concern and compassion in her searching blue eyes brought him to tears, as she swiftly crossed the room to take his trembling hands in hers. “Spike – what’s wrong? What happened?”

 

He immediately looked away, swallowing back the desperate, wild impulse he suddenly had to simply tell her everything, to throw himself on the tender mercies of her and her sister, to just pour out the whole painful story and beg them to believe him, and protect him from Xander’s abuse…

 

…but…

 

“Spike – why are you so scared of Xander?” the girl asked simply, her blue eyes open and seeking – but her voice was full of a heartsick kind of ache, and those wide eyes shimmered with tears of apprehension and fear of what his answer might be.

 

*Can’t tell her,* he reminded himself. *Wouldn’t believe it – it’d hurt her – he’d *kill* her – can’t tell her…*

 

He broke eye contact with her again, afraid that she would see enough of the truth in his eyes to make his false answers meaningless. Shaking his head, he whispered in a soft, hollow voice, “Don’t know. Just – just scares me.”

 

Dawn was quiet for a moment, studying his cautiously guarded expression – and suddenly found herself wondering when he had regained the ability to guard his reactions – to be deceptive at all.

 

Had it happened the night before – when someone had stolen his safe haven from him and shattered his fragile, newborn sense of trust in her and her sister?

 

“Spike.” Dawn was as surprised as he was by the sudden hardness in her voice. “Look at me.”

 

Obedience was immediate, and Spike found himself needing to repeat the words again and again in his head, *Won’t hurt me – she wouldn’t – won’t hurt me…*

 

Her gaze was intense, piercing, as she asked in a tone of demand, “Did Xander do this to you?”

 

Panicked by the bluntly stated question, Spike looked away, shaking his head, backing away from her.

 

She did not allow it, moving in swiftly, a step for every one he retreated, her eyes seeking his as she spoke severely, “*No*! Spike, look at me! *Look at me!*”

 

His back hit the wall, and he raised his hands defensively, breaking down as he shook his head in pleading desperation. Dawn’s hands on his arms kept him from pushing past her and fleeing again, as she relentlessly sought his desperately averted gaze.

 

“*Tell me*!” She was crying herself by now, her voice low and shaking with frustration. “Spike, just tell me! Did he do this?”

 

Spike was sobbing by now, with fear and despair and confusion – though his fear was not of this slender girl in front of him, who loved him, he knew, regardless of the angry, taut emotions in her voice in this moment. She was his friend, and he knew on a deep, instinctual level that she would never hurt him; in fact, he was aware that in some way, he was hurting *her* by withholding the truth. He longed to pour it out to her – but he did not dare.

 

The truth could kill her – and Buffy.

 

He instinctively tried to withdraw further, but the wall at his back prevented it. All he wanted was just to get away, before her tears and her fury dragged the answer from him against his will – but there was nowhere to go…but down.

 

And as Spike slowly crumpled to his knees on the floor, shaking his head pleadingly, holding his hands up as if to ward off a blow, low, choked sobs escaping his throat – Dawn’s anger melted away into a flood of sorrow, and no little shame, for making him feel this way.

 

“Oh, Spike,” she whispered, relenting as she crouched down beside him and without hesitation, threw her arms around him. “Spike, I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! It’s okay…it’s okay…”

 

“Please,” he whispered tearfully, clinging to her, grateful for the dearly needed affection, but with his eyes still tightly shut, refusing to face the intensity of her gaze, still afraid that he was dangerously close to breaking down and telling her everything. “Please don’t – don’t make me…please…”

 

“Don’t make you what, Spike?” Dawn frowned, confused, her face streaked with tears. “Tell me? I only want to help you, Spike – but I can’t -- *we* can’t – if we don’t know who did this to you! Tell us – and we’ll make sure they never hurt you again -- *never* -- but you *have* to tell us!”

 

When her attempt at gentle explanation failed to produce in anything but more tears and deeper sobs – Dawn gave up, releasing a heavy sigh of resignation as she just held Spike closer to her, allowing her own tears to flow freely.

 

“Okay,” she whispered her acceptance, running her fingers lightly through his hair. “Okay…don’t worry about it. You don’t have to say anything…I understand…it’s okay…”

 

Her next words took him by surprise, and Spike was not sure whether to be relieved or apprehensive, at the implications of them.

 

“If he scares you – for *whatever* reason – we won’t let Xander near you, I promise…”

 

**********************************

 

While Dawn was doing her best to calm Spike upstairs – Buffy was dealing with a much larger job – keeping the peace among the emotionally volatile group gathered in the living room.

 

It was quite a tall order, considering that she was feeling especially volatile herself at the moment.

 

When Spike disappeared up the stairs, followed quickly by Dawn, Buffy turned her full attention on her friend, staring at him dubiously for a long moment.

 

“What?” Xander finally asked, shaking his head slightly in innocent confusion.

 

“That’s what I’d like to know,” Buffy replied, her voice carefully calm. “Why every single time Spike sees you, he acts like we’re about to tie him down and torture him.”

 

“Now I *wonder* where he’d get an idea like that,” Angel snarled sarcastically, his fury barely controlled as he took a couple of menacing steps toward the boy.

 

Buffy held out an arm to stop him, as Xander hastily took a backward step – but she said nothing in the boy’s defense, and kept her somber, questioning eyes focused on him – waiting.

 

“Now wait just a second here,” Xander protested slowly, a slight note of alarm in his voice as he recognized the suspicion on the faces of everyone in the room. “What exactly is this? Deadboy here starts running his mouth, saying how he thinks I did something to Spike – and you all just automatically believe him?”

 

“Not automatically,” Giles spoke up, his voice soft and controlled, as he rose from the couch and stepped cautiously toward the tense stand off taking place in the foyer. “I assure you, Xander – no one in this room *wants* to think that you could possibly have done such a thing. It would come as a terrible surprise to all of us to find that…”

 

“Speak for yourself,” Angel snapped. “I’m not surprised – not at all! He’s always hated Spike…”

 

“I didn’t do anything!” Xander exclaimed, outrage in his voice, wide-eyed as he turned to Buffy. “Buffy, you can’t actually believe this!”

 

Buffy finally looked away from the wounded expression in his deep brown eyes. “I – I don’t want to, Xan…I don’t. But – but there’s just so many things…”

 

“Like what?” Xander challenged, crossing his arms over his chest defensively, though his tone was bold and confident.

 

“Like the way that Spike acts around you, when he doesn’t act that scared around *anyone* else…” Angel pointed out before the Slayer could speak.

 

“Like the fact that you and Giles were the only ones here last night – you even admit to seeing him – and last night Spike got hurt,” Buffy said quietly, her eyes searching her friend’s face for the truth.

 

“I told you, he had a nightmare!” Xander said incredulously. “He was thrashing around everywhere! He must have hit his head on something…”

 

“He was ‘thrashing around everywhere’, and he didn’t manage to wake up Dawn?” Buffy countered, her voice rising with frustration. “How is that even possible?”

 

“I don’t know, to tell you the truth, Buffy!” Xander retorted in a voice full of wounded indignation. “But it happened! I can’t believe you’d think that of me – after everything we’ve been through…”

 

“Oh, don’t even try to pull that with her!” Angel snarled, pushing forward against Buffy’s restraining arm in an effort to get at the boy. “I know you were there, in those caves where you kept him prisoner and *tortured* him – I could smell you there, boy! I know what you did to him! And to have the nerve to *pretend* like you’re Buffy’s friend, when all this time you’re lying to her to her face…”

 

“Angel,” Buffy softly spoke up, trying to silence him. “Please…”

 

“No!” Angel snapped, turning on her for a moment. “I can’t believe you’re going to let him get away with this again!”

 

“Me?” Xander laughed bitterly. “What about you? Did you ask him what *he* was doing last night, after we left here?” he turned to Buffy. “He attacked me in my building last night! He would have killed me if someone hadn’t come out and threatened to call the police!”

 

Buffy turned wide, startled eyes on Angel, who just stared at her with a stubborn boldness that said that Xander’s words were true, and no, he was not the least bit sorry.

 

She looked away from him, shaking her head and letting out a weary sigh. “Look – I’m not accusing anyone,” she said softly. “Not yet. We just – don’t have enough to go on to know who did this yet. But – I’m *going* to find out. And when I do – no matter *who* it is – they’re going to pay for what they did to Spike.”

 

As she spoke, she looked around the room at each of the three men in turn, finally bringing her eyes back to rest on Xander. “And in the mean time – I know you meant well last night, but it’s only complicated matters, Xander. No one, and I mean *no one* is going to be alone with Spike besides me or Dawn. That way, no one can say…”

 

“I don’t believe this!” Xander threw up his hands in outrage, turning away for a moment before looking Buffy in the eye, his own blazing with fury. “I was actually making progress with him last night – you should be *happy* about that…and now you’re still practically accusing me of…”

 

“Yeah. Lots of progress,” Angel sneered, but his eyes were dark with anger at what had been done to his childe. “We could see that so well when you came in tonight…”

 

“No one’s accusing you, Xander,” Buffy began, her voice tired and weak.

 

“Oh, yeah? But you think I did it – don’t you?” he challenged her, his eyebrows raised in a question.

 

Buffy did not answer for a long moment, as each of the three men waited for her all-important response. Finally, she answered softly, “No. I don’t. Xander, I know you – I don’t think you could do a thing like that, to anyone – but don’t you see? We have to do this right – keep *everyone* away from him – to know for sure…you know?”

 

“*What*?” Angel’s voice was low and deadly, as he regarded her with incredulous eyes.

 

“Don’t,” Buffy stopped him sharply, her tone warning – her solemn eyes never leaving Xander’s face.

 

Xander studied her expression for a long moment, before letting out a sigh. “Okay,” he said quietly. He paused before adding, “I guess I understand, Buffy. I mean, I guess it *did* look kind of bad,” he let out a sad laugh, nodding toward the stairs where Spike had disappeared.

 

His expression darkened as he glanced derisively at Angel. “Just – keep him away from me.” A humorless smirk formed on his lips as he added, “I’m going home, anyway…it’s probably better right now, all things considered – do me a favor and keep him here until I have time to get there, ‘kay?”

 

Buffy nodded without smiling, glancing at Angel. “Yeah – we’re definitely going to talk about that before he goes *anywhere*.”

 

“Buffy – you can’t…” Angel began.

 

“Yes, I can,” she cut him off, glaring at him warningly. “Just – stay out of this, Angel. This is between me and Xander…”

 

“No, this is between *me* and Xander,” he objected.

 

Buffy stepped quickly between them, her arms crossed over her chest as she attempted to stare her ex-lover down.

 

He would not be stared down – not over this.

 

“Later, Buffy…” Xander said simply as he headed back out the door, shutting it firmly behind him – but only after casting Angel a smug smile over her shoulder.

 

A heavy silence fell over the room in his absence, Angel and Buffy staring at each other, Giles watching them closely for any sign of actual physical conflict.

 

“I can’t believe that you fell for him,” Angel finally spoke slowly, his rage and frustration barely restrained, his eyes flames of fury boring into hers.

 

Buffy did not respond for a long moment. Finally, she sighed, looking away, relaxing as she leaned back against the door, raising her hands to her eyes in a gesture of exhaustion.

 

“I didn’t,” she replied at last.

 

Angel blinked, startled, before saying slowly, “Come again?”  
  


“I didn’t believe him,” Buffy clarified, a note of painful disbelief in her voice as she looked up at him through stricken eyes. “He did it. I know he did it.”

 

“How can you be sure?” Giles asked cautiously, stepping forward with a frown.

 

Buffy looked at him for a moment, blinking back tears, as she finally answered, “Because I never told him that Spike hit his *head*.”


	35. Chapter 35

“No. That’s a terrible idea. I won’t let you do it.”

 

Dawn’s voice was surprisingly calm, but her eyes were narrowed dangerously, and her arms were crossed firmly over her chest, as she tried her best to stare down her older but shorter sister.

 

She knew that Buffy meant well – but she had just made a promise to Spike, a promise that very well might have been the only thing that was allowing him to sleep right now, and she was determined to keep it, no matter what Buffy’s reasons might be for breaking it.

 

Spike had cried in her arms on the floor, until he had so thoroughly exhausted himself that he seemed about to pass out right there; so Dawn had helped him to the bed, and lain on top of the covers beside him, until he had fallen asleep, and long after – until Buffy had come upstairs from her confrontation with Xander.

 

Angel had been with her; Buffy had agreed to his earnest request to spend some time with his childe, to see if he could help him. When they had found him asleep, the older vampire had resigned himself to waiting, recognizing that the traumatized younger vampire most likely needed every moment of rest that he could get.

 

He had moved as if to leave, but Buffy had stopped him, motioning Dawn away from the bed and out into the hall. Once the three of them and Giles were assembled in the living room, Buffy had gone about describing the fledgling, make-shift sort of plan she had been formulating for only the past few minutes – the plan she had had no intention of getting into without her sister present.

 

Dawn was as much a part of this as she was, she knew.

 

And now, Dawn was doing her best to keep the plan from being carried out.

 

“It’s only so that we can keep him safe in the long run,” Buffy argued, a bit impatiently, though she really understood why Dawn did not want to do it. “Just so we’ll have proof positive, no way of getting around it…”

 

“You *already* have proof positive,” Dawn pointed out, a stoic air to her as she stared at her sister, unwavering. “You know he did it.”

 

“And if I confront him, he’ll find some logical explanation for why…”

 

“And you’ll *believe* him? Just like that?” Dawn’s tone was angry now, as her stare became a glare. “Buffy, I can’t believe…”

 

“No, I won’t believe him!” Buffy cut her off sharply, a bit offended by Dawn’s words. “But others might. Willow. Anya. Anyone who might potentially be involved in this, and who hasn’t seen all the signs we’ve seen.”

 

“Honestly, Dawn,” Giles spoke up softly, casting apologetic glances toward her, and Angel in turn, “I must confess that I’m not quite positive myself that the boy is guilty. It certainly does appear that way – but Xander’s…well…”

 

“It’s *Xander*, Dawn,” Buffy broke in, her voice tired and heavy with sorrow. “He’s been like – like *family* for so long! I almost feel like – we have to know beyond any shadow of a doubt, *ever*. Can you see that? I mean – if there’s even the slightest fragment of doubt, and we…I just think it’s best if we make sure that we know for a fact – and eyewitnesses are the best proof there is…”

 

“*No*!” Dawn snapped. “I promised him, Buffy – and so did you! I don’t care why, you can’t *deliberately* put him in a situation like that!”

 

“I’m sorry, Buffy, but I have to agree,” Angel said quietly, his dark gaze intent on hers. “He’s progressing, from what you’ve told me – and you don’t want to set him back again. Something like what you’re suggesting…after you’ve promised to protect him…even if we *do* make sure that that boy can’t ever touch him again – it’d be a good long while before Spike would believe it!”

 

There was a moment’s silence, as Buffy took in the common sense truth of their arguments. Finally, she looked up again, her eyes wide with inspiration.

 

“What if we ask him first?” she suggested. “Make sure it’s okay with him? So he knows what’s going on beforehand…that way it might have a *positive* effect on him, in the long run.” When no one responded for a long moment, she looked between them, her expectant expression becoming uncertain, as she asked hesitantly, “What do you think?”

 

“I think that we’ll have to convince him that it’s safe to admit it’s Xander at all, before we even think of anything like that,” Dawn replied without hesitation. “Buffy, whatever he did to him last night – Spike is terrified. He absolutely refuses to admit that it was Xander…”

 

“Well, then,” Giles suggested cautiously. “Perhaps – it *wasn’t*…”

 

“It was.”

 

The Slayer’s hard tone brooked no argument, her dark green gaze focused on the wall just beyond her sister, as she thought carefully about the situation. “There has to be some way to get him to admit it – we just have to convince him that we’re not going to let anything happen to him…”

 

“Easier said than done, when we already did!” Dawn pointed out grimly.

 

Buffy shook her head, refusing to accept the hopeless look on her sister’s face that said the plan was doomed to failure. “I’ll just have to find a way,” she insisted. “I’ll have to make him see that it’s okay to tell the truth – that we won’t let Xander hurt him again…”

 

As she spoke, she headed resolutely toward the stairs, determination in her gaze despite her sister’s protests of alarm. But it was not Dawn’s voice that stopped her at the foot of the stairs, a sudden sick feeling in the pit of her stomach, and uncertainty in her eyes, at the thought of attempting to convince Spike that she was capable of protecting him, when she knew she had already failed him more than once.

 

She turned around abruptly at the foot of the stairs, a sheepish expression in her eyes as she faced her friends and sister.

 

“I’ll talk to him,” she stated firmly. “When he wakes up.”

 

*******************************

 

Giles was heading for the door an hour later, after thoroughly discussing Buffy’s idea with her and Angel.  Dawn’s protective instincts had driven her upstairs, back to Spike’s side – that, and her utter disapproval of Buffy’s plan, her desire to have nothing to do with it.

 

Buffy was troubled by how strongly Dawn opposed the idea, but she really felt that it was the only way. She was sure that she could convince Spike to go along with it, and as long as he knew that he would be perfectly safe -- what was the harm? For some reason, it was very important to her that Xander have no excuse whatsoever when she confronted him.

 

And maybe -- just maybe, she barely admitted to herself -- *she* needed that last little bit of absolutely irrefutable proof -- needed to see the truth with her own eyes, once and for all, in order to make herself accept what she was now all but certain was the terrible truth about the young man she had thought was her best friend.

 

“Call me when you’re ready to put this plan into action, Buffy,” Giles said, looking at her as he reached for the door handle. “I am in agreement with you completely – I feel that we must know for certain before we make any rash actions.”

 

He opened the door and moved to step out onto the porch – coming up short immediately at the sight of a very startled, wide-eyed Anya standing directly in his path, a trapped, deer-in-the-headlights sort of look in her green eyes.

 

Both Buffy and Giles stared at her for a moment, unsure what to say, or why she had been standing there on the porch, not knocking – just standing there.

 

“Um – hi,” the vengeance demon said in an uncharacteristically quiet, uncertain voice, glancing nervously between the Slayer and her Watcher. “I was – just about to knock. I certainly wasn’t just standing there trying to *decide* whether or not I should knock – I’d definitely already decided to knock. Because even though I slept with your sort of, not quite boyfriend a few months ago, and my sort of, not quite fiancé at the time tried to kill him, and it was a whole big thing – and now your ex-sort-of-not-quite boyfriend is living here with you, and there’s a good chance that you don’t really want me around at the moment doesn’t mean that I feel awkward around you at all. I don’t. I don’t feel the least bit awkward. So I have no problem whatsoever just walking right up and knocking at your door, like any friend would do. Because – we’re friends. So – no awkwardness here.”

 

Anya paused for a deep breath, and then added simply, looking Buffy in the eyes, “And besides – Spike is my friend. He’s always been nice to me, and never treated me like a freak because I wasn’t born human – and he tried his best to comfort me when my heart had just been shattered into a million pieces…so I really don’t care if it’s awkward or not…” She shrugged, a sort of strange little half-smile on her face as she finished, “I’m here to help.”

 

There was a long moment of silence as both Giles and Buffy struggled to process all that she had just said in that long, breathless speech.

 

“Nope,” Buffy remarked dryly. “No awkwardness here.” She smiled apologetically at Anya as she said in a deliberate and completely sincere voice, “Come in, Anya. You are more than welcome. We need as much help as we can get around here lately.”

 

And as she and Giles both stepped aside, allowing Anya to walk into the house, Giles’ pointedly expectant look at her gave her a sudden realization – and an unexpected queasy feeling in the pit of her stomach.

 

“Oh,” Anya remarked with surprise at the sight of Angel, seated on the sofa, his brow furrowed in deep thought, as he went over Buffy’s idea again in his head – an idea he was not exactly pleased with. “Angel. Hello – are you evil?” Anya asked bluntly, with a stiff, artificially pleasant smile.

 

Buffy was too troubled by the unspoken question in Giles’ eyes to even think about her houseful of unexpected guests at the moment.

 

*Oh, God,* she thought, her eyes widening with dismay. *How am I going to tell Anya?*

 

********************************

 

In the end, Buffy put off the decision, deciding that it would be best to wait to say anything to Anya until they were *absolutely* sure. She ignored the severe expression on her Watcher’s face, saying clearly that he knew she was just being a coward.

 

If she was honest with herself, she *knew* deep down in her heart that Xander was guilty – she was just desperately hoping for some last ditch piece of evidence to come hurtling out of the blue and prove beyond all doubt that it could not have been him. And if she could not quite admit it to herself just yet – how could she possibly bring herself to tell Anya?

 

Giles pulled her aside, while Angel was trying to make polite conversation with Anya, in spite of his current state of distraction.

 

“Buffy – you *must* tell her!” he told her urgently. “We’re discussing the situation – deciding on a course of action – she needs to know.”

 

“I can’t, Giles,” she refused, her jaw set stubbornly. “You want her to know so bad? You tell her. I’m going to go check on Spike and Dawn.”

 

And with no further explanation or opportunity for argument, she turned and flounced up the stairs.

 

As she opened the door to her room, her tumultuous thoughts were immediately distracted by the heart-rending sight of her little sister, lying on the bed beside Spike, raised up on one elbow and gazing down at him through tear-filled eyes. He was sound asleep, completely unaware of the tears that streaked her face, and the gentle, trembling hand that ran slowly, tenderly, through his hair.

 

When Dawn noticed Buffy in the doorway, her eyes visibly hardened, still glittering with tears, but suddenly blazing with resentful indignation.

 

“Don’t you dare wake him up,” she ordered in a slightly sullen voice, looking back down at Spike, rather than meeting her sister’s eyes. “He’s been through enough for one day – for longer,” she corrected. “If you’re going to do this to him, you can do it when he wakes up on his own.”

 

Buffy knew very well that if she really wanted to wake Spike now, there was nothing Dawn could do to stop her.

 

She also knew that her little sister *needed*, deep down, to protect her friend – so she did not object to the cold, commanding tone Dawn had taken with her. She did not say anything for a moment, as she sat down slowly and carefully on the edge of the bed.

 

“Don’t worry,” she said finally, a slightly sheepish and completely humorless smile on her face as she looked up at Dawn through serious, sympathetic eyes. “I don’t have any intention of waking him up.”

 

Something in Buffy’s voice drew Dawn’s attention, and she looked up at her older sister speculatively. Studying the Slayer’s nervous, averted eyes for a long moment, Dawn’s lips slowly turned up into a smirk.

 

“Chicken,” she accused softly.

 

“What?” Buffy frowned at her, startled by the word.

 

“Chicken,” Dawn repeated matter-of-factly. “You’re just not waking him up because you’re scared to. You’re determined to do this, but you don’t want to be the bad guy. You’re afraid of his reaction.” She paused before adding slowly and decisively, “You’re a chicken. You’re nothing but a great big chicken Slayer.”

 

Buffy’s surprise faded, and she returned her sister’s gaze, as she replied with a completely straight face, “I have never slayed a chicken in my life.”

 

Dawn visibly fought the smile that wanted to rise on her face – then let out a weary sigh of defeat, laughing softly – and Buffy laughed with her, though both girls were careful to be quiet enough that they did not disturb the sleeping vampire beside them. The soft laughter died away, and both girls stared down at Spike, rather than each other, lost in their own thoughts.

 

“You really think this is the right thing to do?” Dawn asked, a slightly incredulous sound to her voice as she finally looked up at Buffy.

 

“I hope so,” the Slayer responded honestly. “I mean – Dawn – I have to know for sure – you  know? Because – if Xander really did this…he can’t be a part of our lives anymore, and – and he needs to pay for what he’s done. And – I can’t – do that – make that happen – unless I know for absolutely sure – you know?”

 

Dawn was quiet, considering what she had said, before nodding her grudging acceptance. “I *do* know for absolutely sure,” she informed her sister. “Xander did it.”

 

Buffy frowned, surprised at the words, as Dawn had not been present to hear Xander’s little slip downstairs. “How do you know?” she asked her.

 

“You should have seen him up here a little while ago, Buffy,” Dawn explained after a moment, her voice thick with tears. “He was scared out of his mind – I asked him if Xander did it – and he wouldn’t say so – he was too afraid to – but I *knew*. If you’d seen him – you’d know.”

 

Buffy was quiet for a long moment, before she conceded quietly, “I’m going to talk to him when he wakes up, Dawn. I’m going to make sure he knows that we – we already know. And I’m going to be sure that he understands what we’re going to do.” She paused, before deciding only as she said the words aloud, “And I’ll only go through with it if he’s okay with it – okay?”

 

Dawn’s eyes widened, shining with relief and hope at Buffy’s promise. “Really?”

 

“Really,” Buffy confirmed with a decisive nod. “I don’t want to – to put him through any more pain. But – as long as the person who did this to him is still out there, able to get to him – he’s not gonna stop hurting. And – if that person is Xander – we have to know for sure.”

 

Dawn nodded, recognizing the truth in her sister’s words.

 

As Buffy rose from the bed and headed back toward the stairs, satisfied that she had both appeased her little sister, and come to a final decision about her plan, Dawn smiled down at Spike, sleeping on, blissfully unaware of said plan.

 

“It’s okay,” she whispered the words she had spoken a hundred times since Spike had come home to them, though this time he did not actually hear them. “It’s okay…we know who did this to you, Spike – and we’re going to stop him for good. Soon – it’s all gonna be over – and no one will ever hurt you again.”


	36. Chapter 36

Spike’s sleep was restless and troubled, filled with confused, disjointed nightmare images…  
  
Xander standing over him as he knelt helpless, not daring to plead for mercy, knowing that the boy was going to punish him for his failure to keep the secret…Dawn and Buffy, bleeding and broken, their flesh broken by the bullets from Xander’s gun, their wide, pain-filled eyes focused on him in betrayal and accusation…knowing that their precious lives were ebbing away, as Xander grabbed him and dragged him forcefully back to the caves where he had been held prisoner – never to be free again…  
  
He felt a warm touch, like liquid fire on his cool arm – and he jerked back to wakefulness, his crystal blue eyes wide and panicked, in the moment before they came to rest on a pair of round, blinking emerald eyes full of anxious concern.  
  
“Buffy,” he whispered with relief, as he realized that he had only been dreaming.  
  
And in the next moment, his relief faded into a sick feeling of fear, as he remembered that the dream was only a single misstep away from becoming reality.  
  
A single misstep that he just might have already made.  
  
“Hey,” she said softly, an affectionate smile on her lips as she sat down beside him on the bed where he lay, gently pushing him over a bit so that she could rest beside him. “Sleep good, Sweetie?”  
  
He glanced around the room, wondering briefly where Dawn had gotten off to, before meeting her eyes again and nodding silently – a silent lie.  
  
The troubled frown that creased her brow told him that he had not convinced her – and once again, he cursed his own stupidity and uselessness, which he was certain was going to end up getting Buffy and Dawn killed.  
  
“Spike – I need to talk to you,” Buffy said with a heavy sigh of resignation. “It’s – really important. Okay?”  
  
The sick feeling in his stomach intensified, and he looked up at her anxiously again, studying her expression intently for any clue of what she was about to say. Judging by Dawn’s frighteningly knowing reaction to his attempts to convince her that it was *not* Xander who had hurt him – he had a pretty good idea that he knew at least the general idea of what Buffy wanted to talk to him about.  
  
Still, having really no other choice, he nodded hesitantly in response to her words.  
  
“Okay,” she repeated, taking a deep breath – and then saying nothing. Clearly, this conversation was not one that she particularly wanted to have, either.  
  
“Spike,” she tried again after an awkward silence. “I – I know who hurt you.”  
  
Spike felt a sense of rising panic building up inside him, closing off his throat until he could not speak, could not even breathe – forgetting that he did not need to. He looked away from her, shaking his head slightly, trying to pull away.  
  
Buffy did not let him.  
  
“Spike,” she said firmly, turning halfway to face him directly. “Look at me, Sweetie.”  
  
He did not want to, but there was a gentle command in her voice, and he felt that he had no choice. His apprehensive, tearful gaze reluctantly met hers, as he swallowed convulsively, his breathing beginning again, ragged and uneven.  
  
“Please,” he gasped out hoarsely. “Buffy – please…no…”  
  
Buffy winced visibly at the desperate, pleading tone of his words, but she bravely held his gaze, as she went on firmly, “Spike – I wish I *could* just let this go – but I can’t. I have to protect you, Spike – and – I’ve already failed to do that once. I won’t let you down again – and if I pretend like this isn’t happening, like I don’t know who did this to you – that’s what I’d be doing.”  
  
“No,” he objected, frowning with confusion as he tried to understand some of the more difficult parts of what she was saying. “No, Buffy – please don’t – don’t wanna – talk about – this…please…”  
  
“Spike – Xander hurt you. He held you prisoner and tortured you for months – and then, he came up here last night, and told you not to say anything to me – didn’t he?” Buffy’s tone was resolute, slightly warning – leaving no room for argument. “Look at me,” she repeated sharply when he could not hold her gaze.  
  
There was a panicked, terrified expression in his wide blue eyes when he dragged them back up to hers, his fast, uneven breath nearly a sob in his throat. “Please,” he whispered, unable to deny her words, in the face of her clear knowledge – and unable to bring himself to admit the truth. “Please, Buffy – please don’t…”  
  
“Spike,” she whispered, her voice softening as she raised a gentle hand to his cheek, her expression sorrowful when he could not help the instinctive flinch at her touch. “I won’t let him hurt you again – I promise…you’re going to be safe…you just have to trust me…” She paused, looking down for a moment before going on sadly, “I know that’s hard right now – because I let him get to you. And I’m so, *so* sorry…but it *won’t* happen again, Spike. I promise.”  
  
“It – it wasn’t – he didn’t…” Spike tried – really tried – to tell her that she was wrong about her friend…but his shaking, tearful voice broke off immediately the moment he met her eyes.  
  
His heart sank at the certainty he saw in her gaze – the reluctant but unwavering knowledge that she was right in her assumption that Xander was his abuser. His mind was screaming at him to deny it, convince her that she was wrong, for her sake and for Dawn’s, even if not for his own.  
  
His heart already knew that it would not be possible.  
  
The tender sympathy, the understanding that he had not expected to see in her eyes at this moment, when faced with the choice between him and Xander, was more than enough to break through the fragile defenses of his unwilling lies – and Spike broke down, staring down at the mattress between them, tears streaming from his eyes, his shoulders shaking with sobs of relief – terror – confusion…  
  
He really had no idea *what* he was feeling at this point.  
  
It didn’t matter to Buffy, as she reached her soft arms around him, pulling him toward her, one hand pressing his head gently to her chest, as she whispered soothing sounds in his ear, promising him again and again that everything was going to be all right, that she would protect him, that she would not let Xander or anyone else hurt him.  
  
Spike felt an almost overwhelming despair, at the truth resonating in his heart.  
  
She had no idea that his fear had very little to do with Xander’s hurting *him*.  
  
“Buffy,” he whispered breathlessly, struggling briefly against her gentle arms, until she almost immediately released him, his wide, startled gaze focused on hers intently, urgently. “B-Buffy – you – he – he s-said…” He hesitated, searching for the right words, which seemed to elude him in his panic.  
  
Patiently, she waited for him to go on, searching his gaze with affectionate eyes, her hand resting at his cheek, her thumb moving up and down in a tender caress. “What is it, Sweetie?” she asked him finally. “What are you trying to tell me?”  
  
“He – s-said – you…D-dawn…no tell…o-or…he h-hurt you…*kill* you…”  
  
Buffy’s eyes widened in horror, her head shaking slightly in desperate disbelief. “No,” she whispered, her mind rejecting the only possible meaning of his words. “He couldn’t have…he didn’t really mean…”  
  
“Please,” Spike sobbed softly, bowing his head, his hands clinging to her arms, as his worst fears seemed to close in on him – that Buffy would not believe him, would think he was lying, and leave him at the mercy of his enemy. But it was too late to turn back now; he had made his decision, told her everything – and there was no way to take it back, although at that moment he desperately wanted to. “Please – b-believe me – please…”  
  
“I do,” Buffy whispered, almost automatically – but it was the truth. “I do believe you, Spike – it’s just – I wish – I wish it wasn’t true…oh God…” She shook her head, with an effort bringing her eyes back to his and trying her best to focus on him and what he was feeling.  
  
“Spike – he can’t hurt me…not if I know he’s planning on it – you see? I’m much stronger than he is…and if I know he’s gonna try something, I can stop him – do you understand?” she tried to explain.  
  
Spike’s brow was creased with concentration as he tried to follow her explanation. He nodded slowly as he understood – and then his eyes widened in a stricken expression as the unspoken implications hit him – and he realized that he had made a terrible mistake which could have cost them all their lives.  
  
He had been keeping silence out of a desire to protect Buffy and Dawn – but in reality, his silence had almost caused them to be in more danger. Now, it all made sense; Buffy was only able to protect any of them if she *knew* who her enemy was – to watch out for him, and to be on her guard.   
  
His fear had left her at the mercy of that enemy – the man she had thought was her friend.  
  
“M-my fault,” he whispered, shaking his head, his eyes staring up at her in stricken shame. “My fault – sorry…should have told…”  
  
“No,” she reassured him, “no, Baby, it’s not your fault…you’re okay…you didn’t know…you were trying your best to protect us, Sweetie…it’s okay…”  
  
Spike was trembling violently, still clinging to her arms for support, as a spreading weakness had come over him, and he felt as if he might pass out. It was all just so overwhelming – so very much to take in, to comprehend and fit into his rather limited frame of thought.  
  
Suddenly, a frightening thought occurred to him, and he made himself look up at her again. “B-buffy,” he whispered urgently, holding her gaze intently. “G-gun…he has…gun…sh-shoot you…”  
  
Buffy’s face paled, her eyes widening, as she began to look a little sick. “He won’t,” she assured him in a voice barely over a whisper. “No, Spike, I won’t let him…I’ll watch out for the gun…I promise…”  
  
Relieved, and utterly exhausted from this brief yet all-important conversation, Spike leaned forward, resting his head on her shoulder as Buffy did her best to comfort him, holding him close to her and reiterating her promises of protection and understanding – and Spike tried as hard as he could to accept it, to believe that she could keep those promises.  
  
But safety, peace, comfort – all were concepts that were still very new to him. He had made incredible strides just in the past few days, the only days he remembered being free from torment and bondage – but his painful time in captivity was still very fresh in his mind, and he found it difficult to accept that it was really over, that Xander really could not get to him again.  
  
*Can’t hurt me – she’ll protect me – can’t get to me – won’t let him be alone with me…*  
  
He repeated the words, a desperate chant to reassure himself that it was true, that he could safely accept this new life – until the mantra was interrupted by Buffy’s soft, uncertain voice at his ear, her arms around him trembling slightly with some emotion unknown to him.  
  
“Spike – there’s just – one thing…I – I need to ask you…”  
  
******************************  
  
“I can’t believe he said that.”  
  
Dawn’s voice was low and stunned, trembling with hurt, as she sat on the living room sofa beside her sister, her blue eyes wide and unseeing as she stared at the coffee table. “He really said he’d – he’d shoot us? *Xander* said he’d shoot me and you?”  
  
Buffy nodded slowly, her expression grim, as she studied her sister’s face with concern. She was hurting too, taken completely off guard by Spike’s revelation – but she was trying to hold it together for the sake of her sister.  
  
Fortunately, they had their privacy to deal with the shock. Giles had taken Anya out, under the guise of discussing business matters regarding the shop – but Buffy suspected that the outing was really to break the news to her gently regarding their suspicions about Xander.  
  
Now that Spike had reluctantly admitted Xander’s guilt, there was no reason to keep Spike isolated from everyone besides her and Dawn. So, Buffy had taken Angel upstairs, granting his request to spend some time with his childe – and when Spike’s reaction had been one of wonder, and perhaps a bit of awe…but not the least bit of fear…she had reluctantly left them alone in the upstairs bedroom, forcing her own jealous fears out of her mind and trying her best to focus on her sister.  
  
Once she started to actually explain, focusing on Dawn’s feelings was not hard.  
  
Her own feelings were much the same.  
  
“I didn’t want to believe it, either, Dawnie,” she said with soft sympathy. “But it’s true. Spike wouldn’t make it up – probably couldn’t. And he certainly couldn’t fake his feelings. He was terrified – for *us*. He wasn’t even so worried about what Xander might do to *him* -- he was keeping his mouth shut because Xander said he’d kill *us* if Spike told the truth about what happened to him.”  
  
Dawn was quiet for a long moment – and when she spoke again, her voice was alarmingly low, and dark with fury.  
  
“I want to kill him.”  
  
Buffy looked up at her sister sharply, concern in her eyes. She completely understood Dawn’s feelings – wanted to kill Xander herself – but the hatred shining out from her little sister’s eyes was chilling.  
  
“Dawnie,” she warned her quietly, “we have to be careful…we have to…”  
  
“We have to make him pay for what he did to Spike,” Dawn finished for her, meeting her eyes with a challenge blazing in her own. “We have to make sure that Spike is safe from him for good.”  
  
“I know,” Buffy said simply, giving up on whatever she had been about to say; she really could not remember what it was going to be, anyway.  
  
“So – did you talk to Spike about the plan?” Dawn asked after a long moment of silence.  
  
“I did.”  
  
When Buffy did not volunteer any further information, Dawn prompted her impatiently, “And? What did he say? Did he understand what you were asking him to do?”  
  
“He did,” Buffy answered simply with a nod, not looking at her sister. “And – he said yes.” She met Dawn’s eyes with a determined gaze, her jaw set as she thought of how they were going to prove beyond all doubt just what Xander was capable of, what he had done – beyond any capability he might have to deny it. A slight, grim smile rose to her lips as she finished quietly.  
  
“We’re going to do it. Tomorrow. And then – Xander’s going to pay.”


	37. Chapter 37

Angel stood still in the doorway, staring at the fragile, broken shell that had once been his vibrant, defiant childe. Spike crouched on the bed, watching him with wide, wondering eyes – watchful, but unafraid.

 

Angel had felt relieved, but very surprised, when Buffy had asked Spike whether or not he would be all right if she left the room, and Angel stayed. He had been even more surprised when Spike had taken only a few seconds to consider her words, before nodding firmly, his piercing blue gaze studying Angel’s face with unmasked curiosity – and something almost resembling…recognition.

 

Now, Buffy had disappeared down the stairs a minute or two before – and Angel still stood in the doorway, unable to move closer to his childe, for fear of startling him, shattering this intuitive sort of trust Spike seemed to have in him; and unable to make his mouth form words to speak.

 

Amazingly – Spike found the words first.

 

Or rather – one word…the only one he needed.

 

“S-sire?”

 

Angel’s eyes widened as he raised his eyes to Spike’s face again, taking in the slight tilt of his head, the wide blue eyes, studying him intently, with a faint glimmer of – was that memory he saw in the younger vampire’s gaze? Did he really recognize him?

 

It did not matter.

 

The single word pulled Angel irresistibly to the side of the bed, where he crouched down beside it, bringing himself just slightly below eye level with Spike, whose questioning gaze followed his every movement, his head tilting slightly to the side, his eyes widened in surprise.

 

The expression on Spike’s face was what first let Angel know that his face had shifted without his knowledge, in response to that single, powerful word from his childe’s lips. As the younger vampire reached out a cautious but steady hand toward his ridged face, Angel could not help but smile at the memories that cautious touch, those strangely innocent eyes, brought back.

 

*It wasn’t *all* bad,* he reminded himself a bit wistfully.

 

“Spike,” he said softly, yet with a low growl in his voice that was completely unintentional, “do you – do you know what that word means – childe?”

 

Spike’s smile faded slightly in concentration, as he seriously thought about the answer to the question, and then nodded slowly, uncertainly. “You?” he guessed cautiously, meeting Angel’s gleaming golden eyes with his own, guileless and questioning and brilliant crystal blue.

 

A low rumbling laugh, made almost a growl by the fiercer features of Angel’s vampiric face, left his lips, as he smiled with warmth and affection at his childe. “Yes, m’boy,” he replied gently with a nod. “That’s exactly right.”

 

Spike’s clear blue gaze was still questioning, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Angel’s face, wondering how he had known that, and what exactly that strangely familiar word he had known meant. Yes, he knew somehow that “sire” referred to this man crouched beside him – but what exactly *was* “sire”? Not this person’s name – he already knew that his name was Angel.

 

So – why did he somehow instinctively know him as sire?

 

Sensing, feeling the questions as he reached out cautiously through their bond, Angel took a deep breath, preparing to try to explain the concept of “sire” to Spike – completely unsure as to whether or not he was even capable of comprehending it yet.

 

“I’m your sire,” he began quietly, holding Spike’s gaze intently. “I – I made you – what you are…no…I made you…so much *more* than – than what he – what that *monster* made you, Spike…” Angel stopped for a moment when he realized that his voice was trembling with rage, pausing to compose himself, shaking his head slightly before he went on.

 

When he looked back up at Spike, he was dismayed to see a vague fear and uncertainty in his eyes at the mention of the person who had hurt him, as well as a sort of uneasy shame, as if he almost felt that it was *his* fault that Angel was upset – his fault that he was no longer what he had once been.

 

“It’s not your fault, Spike,” Angel assured him firmly. “You – you used to be strong – powerful – until he hurt you.”

 

But in spite of his good intentions, his desire to make things right again for his childe, an insistent voice reminded Angel in his head, *But that’s not completely true. He was never powerful, never truly his own – not until he got away from *you*…and he still would be, if you’d done your duty and gone to him when you heard his call…*

 

Angel suppressed a flinch at the painful truth, forcing himself to focus completely on the needs of his childe.

 

“You can’t help what happened, Spike,” he went on softly. “And as much as I want to – neither can I. But – I *can* help it get better. I’m your sire – and that’s a very powerful thing. But – you have to listen to me, Spike, and do as I say…all right?”

 

Spike’s intense gaze never faltered during Angel’s slightly rambling explanation, which the elder vampire could not help but feel was sadly lacking – but Spike seemed to accept it with very little question, although there was still some confusion in his eyes.

 

“All right,” Angel nodded, taking another deep breath as he rose up to sit on the bed beside his childe. “First of all – I need you to change…”

 

Spike frowned, tilting his head slightly, obviously puzzled by the command.

 

Angel’s eyes widened, as he suddenly realized that since Buffy had found Spike, in the admittedly limited occasions in which he had seen him, he had not once seen the younger vampire change into his game face.

 

“Spike,” he asked softly, his voice hushed and wondering, “do you – do you even *know* that you’re – a *vampire*?”

 

Spike looked away from him, his expressive blue eyes troubled, as he clearly did not understand the question – and Angel suddenly realized the startling truth. In all the teaching he had been given by the well-meaning humans in Buffy’s household – not once had any of them even mentioned the word “vampire”.

 

A sense of mild disgust came over him, and he shook his head in disbelief, as he muttered more to himself than to Spike, “It’s a good thing she decided to let me see you. Otherwise you’d have had the world’s worst panic attack whenever your lessons get around to basic human biology.”

 

Realizing that his musings were doing nothing to reassure Spike, or answer his questions, Angel did his best to focus.

 

“You – you’re like me,” he told him, raising a hand to touch his own roughened vampire features, and then pointing between himself and Spike. “Vampire. I’m a vampire. And so are you – like me.”

 

Spike frowned, clearly troubled by something, as he leaned cautiously closer to his sire, a hand outstretched to cautiously touch his ridged cheek. “Vampire?” he asked thoughtfully.

 

“Yes,” Angel replied, nodding his encouragement. “That’s right.”

 

Spike removed his hand, glancing down at the floor, still frowning with confusion, as he raised his hand to his own smooth cheek, before meeting Angel’s eyes again. “No vampire,” he said softly, shaking his head, a question in his gaze. “You – vampire. N-not – not me…”

 

Angel laughed out loud when he realized what the trouble was – and then quickly suppressed the laugh at the slight spark of annoyance he saw in his childe’s eyes – felt through their bond.

 

It both surprised and thrilled him to see that indignant look in Spike’s eyes, even if he could not quite bring himself to express it more fully, not yet, anyway. For now, it was enough for Angel that he was feeling it at all, after all he had been through, all the painful conditioning that had had him believing that he was stupid, worthless, deserving of mockery and derision.

 

“No,” Angel began to explain, shaking his head, his own expression carefully serious. “Look.” Holding Spike’s gaze, he deliberately shifted his features, back and forth, human to vampire and back again – while the younger vampire’s eyes widened in stunned amazement.

 

Stopping in his human guise, Angel reached one hand up to his own cheek, and the other up to gently touch Spike’s face. Spike did not flinch, just stayed focused in wonder on Angel’s face, as Angel said softly, “You – and me – we’re *both* vampires, Spike. We can look human – but we’re not. You can change your face, too…”

 

Spike drew back from his hand, blinking in shock at that statement, and then shaking his head vigorously – more than certain that Angel was mistaken, he could not!

 

“Yes, you can,” the elder vampire insisted patiently. “Go ahead – try, Spike…try it…”

 

Spike gave him a dubious look, but he took a deep breath and concentrated hard – trying his best to make his face look like Angel’s had looked.

 

Nothing happened.

 

“I figured as much,” Angel sighed, his own face shifting back from human to vampire. “Okay – maybe this will help…”

 

As Spike watched in surprise, and a little fear, Angel raised his own wrist, tearing the flesh there slightly against his fangs until a thin trickle of blood flowed from the wound – and then held it out to Spike, an expectant expression on his face, as he rose to his feet, standing over the younger vampire with an almost regal air suddenly coming upon him.

 

“You can smell it, can’t you, Spike?” he said in a voice that was hushed, intense. “More than that – you can *feel* it…my blood – is *your* blood, m’boy…and some part of you still knows it. You *want* it – don’t you…”

 

His wide crystal blue eyes locked unwavering onto the dark red stream trickling down Angel’s wrist into his hand, unaware that his eyes were glimmering with gold in the center even as he watched it.

 

“Go ahead – let yourself feel that, Spike – it’s what we are – let that out…come on,” Angel coaxed him gently, a low rumbling growl in his chest underscoring his words, as he held his wrist out toward his childe.

 

Spike’s face seemed to waver in and out between human and vampire for a few moments, as the powerful scent of his sire’s blood filled his senses, until finally the vampire in him took over, and a soft, almost tentative answering growl rose in his own throat, as he cast wide golden eyes that were somehow both fierce and pleading up toward his sire’s face.

 

“Go ahead, boy,” Angel nodded, his voice low and thick with emotion. “Drink…”

 

That was all the more encouragement Spike needed; his instincts did all the work, as he reached out with both hands to pull his sire’s wrist to his mouth, suckling at the wound greedily, with deep, surprisingly powerful pulls that brought Angel back to sitting on the bed within moments, his head falling back as he struggled against the blackening splotches of color dancing before his eyes, threatening to take his consciousness from the speed with which his childe was drinking from him.

 

*Just – a little more – gotta – he needs it…* he told himself firmly, again and again – until he could not seem to keep the thought coherent…and reluctantly, he tried to pull his hand away.

 

Spike would have none of it.

 

With a low, possessive growl, the younger vampire clutched at his hand, refusing to let go.

 

“Stop,” Angel ordered weakly, his eyes closed, barely able to breathe out the word. Then, when that was of no effect, he focused all his remaining energy on using his sire’s voice, and repeated the order, more firmly, with a low, warning growl, “*Stop*, childe…*now*!”

 

Immediately, Spike released him, and although his eyes followed Angel’s weakly dropping wrist with longing, there was a flash of apprehensive shame in his eyes, as if he feared punishment for his disobedience and presumption – but not the sort of extreme, sadistic punishments that his captor had dealt him for so long.

 

He intuitively knew that even if he *was* inclined to punish him, Angel would never treat him in that way. He could taste, smell, feel the power of their bond, the father’s love that Angel had for him, in the blood that lingered in his mouth, and coursed through his veins with an almost electric, mystical sort of heat that had nothing to do with either of their physical bodies.

 

He felt strong – powerful - *alive* -- in a way that he had not felt in as long as he could remember. The sense of connection and protection and family that he felt was new to him, and yet profoundly old – like something he had missed, though he had not even remembered feeling it.

 

What he felt for Dawn and Buffy was very similar, very close to this – but not quite the same.

 

In that moment, Spike felt no fear, only a sort of reverent awe – as he *felt*, deep down inside him, the meaning of the word “sire”.


	38. Chapter 38

The soft sounds of casual conversation and lightly clattering cups and silverware surrounding the pair seated in the back corner of the Espresso Pump seemed exceptionally loud, in the harsh, bitter silence that had fallen over them, following the Watcher’s troubling revelation.

 

Giles carefully studied the girl’s wide-eyed, shocked expression – aware that she was really much more than the girl she appeared to be, and wary lest she should lose control of her emotions and react with some form of violence – with which he would certainly be less than prepared to deal with.

 

Anya – or Anyanka, he supposed might be the better name for her now that she was a vengeance demon again – simply stared ahead of her with wide, stricken green eyes, focused somewhere around his chest, as she visibly tried to process the disturbing news he had just given her.

 

Giles cleared his throat a bit self-consciously, glancing downward and wishing that he had taken better advantage of the training facilities at the Council’s headquarters in London, although he knew that really, she was not even seeing him, her thoughts lost in the pain of finding that the young man she had loved for so long was -- *allegedly* -- capable of such cruelty as had been committed against Spike.

 

“Anya,” he asked quietly, uncertain whether or not it was wise to interrupt her reverie. “Are you quite all right, my dear?”

 

*Anyanka is really quite a lovely name, much more appropriate to her than Anya,* he mused even as he spoke, with a force of effort drawing his gaze away from her full, slightly parted lips, now trembling in a way that made her appear terribly vulnerable, and more than a little alluring.

 

*Bloody hell!* he abruptly cut off that line of thinking, his ice blue eyes rising to meet her slightly vacant, heartsick gaze, just as she raised her eyes to hers.

 

*Get it together, man! You aren’t supposed to be thinking of her in this way – you’re only here to help her get through this, and deal with this – in a way that does *not* involve the destruction of human life or property. What you are *not* here to do is to notice how flawless her complexion appears in this soft lighting – how very green her eyes are, and how they sparkle with the…*

 

*…tears.*

 

Giles’ gaze softened with compassion, and it was suddenly not all that difficult to push aside the sudden – and very disturbing – way that his body and mind were taking notice of the vengeance demon as a *woman*, rather than just as “Xander’s ex-demon fiancée.”.

 

“It can’t be true – can it?” Anya asked, her voice barely over a whisper, her wide emerald eyes, glimmering with unshed tears, pleading with him to tell her it wasn’t so. “I mean – Xander never liked Spike. He was always mean to him, and he *did* try to kill him that night – but – surely he wouldn’t…”

 

Anya paused, taking in a deep breath in an attempt to control her emotions, rising in intensity as she spoke – but then, she suddenly deflated all at once, weary and defeated as she looked back up at Giles.

 

“Who am I kidding?” she sighed. “Of course he would do a thing like this!”

 

Giles’ eyes widened in surprise at her unexpected words. “Excuse me?”

 

“He can really be incredibly petty and cruel when he feels that he’s been slighted in some way,” Anya explained matter-of-factly. “That night when Spike and I got ridiculously drunk and had sex on the table at the Magic Box…”

 

Giles winced slightly at the mental images he really wished he did not have to have imprinted on his mind, and tried to keep them at bay by deliberately focusing on the rest of her words.

 

“…Xander would have killed Spike that night, if Buffy and I hadn’t stopped him. And I don’t know how many times he talked about how much he hated Spike, how much he wished that Buffy would just dust him – about what he thought Spike deserved to have happen to him…”

 

A troubled frown creased Giles’ brow at the disturbing story her words painted for him, as he shook his head in dismayed disbelief. “Yes, but -- *wanting* something and carrying it out are two very different things, Anya. We must be very cautious. This is *Xander* we’re talking about…”

 

“I know very well who we’re talking about,” Anya reminded the Watcher, an irritated look on her face as she interrupted him. “We’re talking about the man who abandoned me and shattered my heart into a million pieces…”

 

“Yes, but Anya,” Giles broke in, shaking his head, his tone understanding, but slightly impatient, “he had his reasons for that, wrong though they may have been. I know that you were very close to him, but so was I, dear, you must remember. And he never struck me as the kind of person who could be capable of such violence…”

 

“He struck *me* as that kind of person,” Anya shrugged slightly, her expression darkening as she looked down at the table between them for a long moment, before  adding with uncharacteristic softness, “once.”

 

A slight puzzled frown began on the Watcher’s face – and then froze as the soft sadness in her voice, and the wide-eyed, vulnerable expression in her eyes told him more than he wanted to know about just what she was saying.

 

“Anya,” he said, a slightly dangerous edge to his carefully controlled voice. “Are you telling me that *Xander* -- once dared to actually *strike*…”

 

“It was only the once,” Anya spoke up nervously, glancing up to meet his eyes for just a moment before looking away again, her eyes darting back and forth as she hurriedly spoke, “I’ve granted wishes for women who’ve been through much worse, it was really nothing, just a one time kind of thing where he lost his temper, that’s all…”

 

Giles’ eyes widened as he realized that she was admitting to the suspicions he had hoped his mind was inventing – hoped against hope that she was not actually saying that Xander had gone so far as to hit her.

 

“Remember that one time, when we were having a Scoobie meeting, and Buffy was telling us about that one cross-dressing demon that she killed on patrol, and how she’d never seen a leather bustierre that large before, and I told her that *I* had, when me and Xander were playing this game, where he dressed up as a…”

 

“*Yes*, Anya,” Giles cut her off almost desperately, his eyes tightly shut as he leaned his head forward in his hand, not sure which image he was trying harder to keep from his mind. “I do remember, my dear, but what on earth does that have to do with…”

 

“That was the night he did it.”

 

A heavy silence settled between them for a long moment, as Giles raised his eyes slowly to meet hers again, serious and concerned.

 

“Like I said – it was just the once. He was – terribly embarrassed that I mentioned our sexual practices in front of his friends. He always was. I just – keep forgetting what things are supposed to be private, and what things aren’t, and he just – he just lost it.”

 

“He beat you?” Giles’ voice was chillingly soft, his eyes glittering with a silent storm of fury, as he studied her unusually self-conscious demeanor, the hurt that lingered in her eyes while telling the story.

 

“He *hit* me,” she corrected quietly. “Once. That was all. And, he was immediately very apologetic, promising that it would never happen again, that he was so sorry, that he would make it up to me if it was the last thing he did. He swore he’d never hit me again…”

 

Although he was quite certain that as far as he was concerned, the answer did not matter, Giles asked her softly, “And did he? Ever hit you again?”

 

Anya shook her head, a sad, wistful expression on her face as she remembered. “No. He never did.” She paused, before clarifying with a little shrug and a bittersweet smile, “Two weeks later – he left me at the altar.”

 

After a moment’s weighted silence, Giles spoke up again, his voice gentle and full of a deep regret that was not really his to bear. “I’m so terribly sorry, Anya. If I would have seen it…I would have…”

 

“I’m not saying this for sympathy,” Anya interrupted, her voice calm and clear and certain as she met his eyes bravely, a solemn intensity in her gaze. “Come on, Giles, I know that any woman has to be an idiot to stay with a man who hurts her – and I may have walked down that aisle alone, but I *did* walk down that aisle – two weeks after he slapped me across the face.”

 

She paused, considering her words before she went on, “I didn’t tell you this to say, ‘Oh, look, here’s another reason Xander needs to be punished’. I just – I wanted you to know that – he *is* capable of being violent. He – he said he loved me…and he *hated* Spike. So – if he’d hit *me*, over something I said…what do you think he’d do to *Spike*, for – well, for all the reasons he thinks he’s got the right to hate him?”

 

Giles drew in a slow, deep breath, his eyes widening as he took in what she was saying. “Dear Lord,” he murmured softly, shaking his head slightly in dismay as he realized that she was right.

 

“It hurts,” Anya admitted with a nod. “I – I wish it surprised me more – but it just doesn’t. I wish that he *wasn’t* capable of something like what happened to Spike – but he is. I knew it already; I think I kind of knew it was him whenever we found Spike in those caves – I just – didn’t *want* to know it – you know?”

 

Thinking of Buffy, and Dawn, and his own desire to somehow clear the boy, Giles nodded. “I do know, Anya,” he replied. “I just – wanted you to know, before Buffy or Angel – or bloody hell, even young Dawn for that matter – do something to – to set things right, as they see it, for Spike. To – avenge what was done to him. I didn’t want you to be – unprepared.”

 

Anya nodded, a soft, slightly shy smile coming over her face as she looked into his deep blue eyes with surprise and gratitude – obviously stunned to have been the object of his concern.

 

“Thank you,” she said softly. “But – you don’t have to worry about how I’ll feel about it. A thousand years working vengeance, you kind of get a feeling for justice – and how some things just have to be punished. If Xander really did this to Spike – he deserves whatever they decide to give him. And while I don’t exactly want to take part in it – unless I have to – I won’t stand in their way.”

 

With a new respect in his eyes for the ancient vengeance demon, who now was both blessed and cursed with the fragile heart of a human woman, Giles smiled gently, encouragingly at her, as he laid the money for both of their drinks on the counter and stood, offering her his hand to help her to her feet.

 

They just stood there for a moment, unexpectedly lost in each other’s intensely studying eyes – each caught completely off guard by the sudden connection that seemed to have formed between them.

 

Giles opened his mouth as if to speak, shaking his head slightly in a sort of wonder – and then shut his mouth again, looking away with a little smile.

 

“What?” Anya demanded, a bit defensively.

 

“Nothing,” he attempted to assure her, as they headed toward the door.

 

“No, what?” she persisted, her many years of dealing with the various treacheries of men, as well as her own recent experience with such treachery, making her anxious and self-conscious, and desperate to know what it was that he had just barely stopped himself from saying. “What were you going to say about me, Rupert Giles?”

 

Giles paused at the door, turning slightly to face her, a slightly wistful expression in his eyes, as he opened his mouth – hesitated again – and then finally responded in a soft, thoughtful voice, not quite meeting her eyes.

 

“In all honesty, Anya – I was simply wondering – what it might have been like, had we done this before…”

 

At her slightly blank, puzzled look, he continued with a self-deprecating little smile, “Gone for coffee like this – just to talk. You’re really an – an extraordinary woman…Anyanka,” he confessed quietly, her old name somehow slipping out without his really meaning for it to. “And a man like me simply can’t help but wonder – what things might have been like, had we done this – without a crisis to force us to – and perhaps, before you’d become involved with a high school student more than a thousand years your junior.”

 

Anya was wide-eyed, startled and a bit taken aback by his unexpected words. She blinked, taking it in, before a slow smile spread across her lips.

 

“You’re only just *less* than a thousand years my junior,” she reminded him with a teasing smile that did not quite mask her pleased blush at his attention.

 

“Still,” he pressed, with a little half shrug to concede her point, “the difference is slightly less…and a man…well, he can’t help but wonder, that’s all.”

 

Offering her his arm, like a proper English gentleman, Giles led her on through the door and out onto the sidewalk, heading toward the small apartment where she was currently staying.

 

They were halfway there when Anya spoke again, breaking the silence in a voice that was low, and husky with pleasure and promise, as she answered his wonderings softly and wistfully.

 

“I think – I think it would have been nice. Very nice.”

 

Giles suppressed a smile of amusement and pleasure at her words, but did not respond at all, as they kept walking.

 

Anya suddenly pulled them both to a stop, turning slightly to face him with solemn, intent emerald eyes, making it clear before she spoke that she had something more to say.

 

“I think – it still could be.”


	39. Chapter 39

The next day started off very much like the ones that had gone before it.

 

Spike woke up shortly after Buffy did that morning, feeling a bit disoriented, and with a vague sense of wrongness – as if he should not really be waking up at this time, but rather going to sleep. He had felt the same way the morning before – but now, he understood why.

 

After drinking from his sire the night before, Spike had sat on the bed, allowing the older vampire to hold him close in a protective, parental embrace, as Angel had explained to him all the things that he had wondered about since coming to live here, but had not had the first idea how to express. Vague feelings and sensations and impulses that had disturbed and confused him, now made perfect sense, in the light of the things Angel had told him about his true nature and history.

 

When he had finished explaining, and both vampires were reasonably sure that Spike understood most of what Angel had told him, the older vampire had pulled away from him to meet his eyes, a solemn warning in his dark gaze.

 

“It’s not going to be easy – it goes against your nature, Spike – but you must *never* harm a human being. Do you understand what I am telling you?”

 

Spike had nodded dutifully, surprised that Angel felt the need to tell him that – and surprised that he would say that to hurt people was a part of his nature. Since he had recovered enough to be aware of his own feelings, his own desires, he had felt no desire to harm anyone – only to keep them from harming *him*, and those he cared about.

 

"Except Xander," Angel suddenly added, as he took his childe back into his embrace. "If you get the chance -- it's completely okay to hurt him. Any way you like."

 

Spike had felt a strange sort of tingling sensation inside him at the deadly quality in his sire's voice, the vicious sort of amusement in the smile he could hear forming on Angel's lips -- as if the violence of the words somehow called out to him, and something deep within him answered its approval.

 

And that in itself was startling to Spike.

 

Buffy.

 

Dawn.

 

Spike could not imagine ever wanting to hurt them, or any of the other humans that seemed to frequent their home, for that matter. Angel had told him about what it meant to be a vampire, but he drank his blood from bags that Buffy brought home, not from people. That was all he remembered -- and that was okay.

 

Now that he knew the taste of his sire's blood, Spike earnestly hoped that he would be granted the privilege of tasting it again -- but the thought of biting a human, drinking their life's blood down, was not really all that appealing to him -- not when almost all of the humans he knew had been so very kind to him.

 

But at the thought of Xander hurting the ones he loved, Spike had felt a sudden sensation of protective anger rising up in him…and he thought that just maybe, he understood what his sire was trying to tell him. In that moment, he had wanted to tear the boy apart – to utterly destroy him, leaving him incapable of ever touching Buffy or Dawn – or *him* -- again.

 

A sudden panic had seized him, when he realized the direction his thoughts were taking – and how the boy would react if he knew. Spike wasn’t quite sure how he knew, but he *did* know that he could not fight Xander himself – not and win, anyway. The very thought of how brutally the boy would punish him if he ever dared to attempt it was almost enough to drive the thoughts of defending his little family from his head.

 

Almost.

 

Xander was bigger than him – stronger than him – and Xander carried a gun, as well as other terrifying weapons, on him almost all the time, as far as he could tell. The last thing he wanted was to attempt to fight him.

 

But he would – if he had to.

 

If Xander tried to hurt Buffy or Dawn.

 

He didn’t *want* to have to – the very thought of actually raising his hand to his former captor, the young man who still held such power over him, was terrifying, and he hoped that he would never be faced with the choice of standing up to Xander, or watching him hurt those he loved.

 

But if he ever *was* faced with that choice – he knew beyond all doubt what his decision would be.

 

That realization had startled him more than anything else he had learned that night – and he had learned an awful lot from Angel. He could not quite have put it into words, but every new fact, every thought, seemed to have taken on a new clarity of meaning and understanding, with the powerful sire’s blood that was still coursing through his veins.

 

His perception seemed somehow sharper, clearer; he found that it was less difficult for him to focus, to grasp the explanations that his sire offered him for the countless questions that seemed to suddenly flood his mind.

 

How long had he been a vampire?

 

Where had he been before what had happened to him?

 

What exactly *had* happened to him?

 

Angel had done his best to explain all that he could to him – and when he found himself running into questions that he had no answers for, he had told Spike to ask Buffy. Hours later, the younger vampire had finally drifted off to sleep, exhausted by the intense encounter with his sire, and all the new ideas and knowledge that filled his mind.

 

As sleep surrounded him, pulling him down into dreams, a part of his mind protested anxiously -- certain that in the morning, he would have forgotten all that he had learned, all the questions he still had for Buffy; or worse, that he would awaken to find that it had all just been a strange and lovely dream -- but he was simply too tired to resist the call of slumber any longer.

 

And in the morning -- he *did* remember.

 

*****************************

 

Buffy had not been able to help feeling a bit jealous, when Angel had come back downstairs that night and told her that Spike was sleeping, and that he expected that the younger vampire would be feeling quite a bit stronger in the morning. She had nodded her acceptance without meeting his eyes – her gaze locked on the just barely healing puncture marks on Angel’s left wrist.

 

She had tried to shake her dark mood, as she had made her way up the stairs and went about getting ready to go to sleep, glancing occasionally at Spike, who appeared to be sleeping more peacefully than he had since she had found him.

 

*What’s so special about Angel?* she thought, her lower lip jutting out in a pout as she ran a brush ruthlessly through her hair before going over to the bed. *I’m the one who found him! I’m the one who’s been taking care of him! I’m the one…*

 

But as she had climbed cautiously into the bed, even in her jealous irritation, careful not to disturb Spike – her anger had melted away when she had felt his cool body shift back against hers in his sleep, as he instinctively sought the warmth and comfort of his connection with her.

 

A soft smile rose to her lips, as she raised a hand from behind him to touch his forehead briefly before running back through his hair. Her lips fell without conscious thought on the back of his head in a brief but tender kiss, as she snuggled in closer to him, wrapping her arm around him and settling in to sleep beside him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder.

 

“I think,” she whispered into his ear – well aware that she would not be daring to say the words if she thought for a moment that he was actually hearing them – “I think I love you, Spike…”

 

Much to her relief – and a bit of disappointment – there was no response, no movement or sound from the deeply sleeping vampire. Satisfied for the moment in his nearness, and the reassurance that he did still need her, still crave closeness to her – Buffy nestled in close behind him, her body molded comfortably to his, as she fell into a peaceful and much needed sleep.

 

The next morning, she had left Spike to sleep, knowing that he needed his rest, as she had made her way downstairs to the kitchen to prepare breakfast for herself and Dawn.

 

She highly doubted that Spike would be very hungry just yet – after the very substantial meal he had had before going to bed.

 

She turned away from the stove to set the plate of pancakes on the counter – and jumped, when she found herself face to face with a quietly expectant, calm pair of wide, shining blue eyes, focused intently on hers.

 

She laughed softly with relief, as she set the plate down and smiled at him in welcome. “You scared me, Sweetie,” she informed him, moving forward to put her hands gently on his arms, smiling into his eyes. “Did you sleep well? Are you sure you got enough rest?”

 

Both of her questions were answered with silent nods, as his intent gaze never faltered. Buffy frowned slightly, puzzled by something that seemed somehow different about him this morning. She could not quite place it, but although he had yet to say a word to her, Spike seemed somehow – stronger…less fearful…more…*alive*.

 

“Buffy,” he said quietly, glancing away for just a moment before focusing on her eyes again. “May I – ask you a question?”

 

“Of course,” she assured him, nodding as she released one of his arms and guided him by the other to sit down at the counter. “What is it?”

 

“Well – really – more than one question. Lots of questions,” Spike admitted with a slightly apologetic little smile, his head tucked shyly for just a moment, before he met her eyes again, his smile fading to a solemn, earnest expression. “I need – I need to know some things.”

 

Buffy’s eyes widened slightly as she suddenly realized how very clearly he was putting his words together – and how much less like Giles, and more like *Spike* his British accent sounded this morning.

 

Over the past couple of days, Spike had been learning at an incredible rate of speed, and he had told her that a lot of words and concepts were simply coming back to him, without being taught. He had yet to remember specific incidents or events from his past, but basic knowledge did seem to be returning to him, to the point that his communication, while a bit uncertain and awkward, was definitely sufficient.

 

But now, he sounded almost as he had before his injury – without the casual slang and British curse words that had so peppered his language before, of course.

 

Was it possible that Angel’s blood -- *sire’s* blood – had helped bring some of Spike’s old self back to him?  
  


“Whatever you want to know, Spike,” she assured him without asking the questions that filled her own mind. “Go ahead and ask me anything.”

 

He was silent, as she walked to the refrigerator and poured a mug of blood – but the words he spoke as she was placing the mug in the microwave froze her hand, before she could begin to push the memorized sequence of numbers that would bring the blood to the proper temperature.

 

“What was I to you? Before – I was hurt?”

 

A moment’s silence hung in the air between them, Spike waiting in anxious silence for her answer – Buffy not daring to turn around and face him, suddenly panicked at the thought of meeting those too-honest, too-perceptive eyes.

 

Stalling for time, she cleared her throat and then asked in a slightly tremulous voice, “What – what do you mean, Spike?”

 

As she spoke, she forced her shaking fingers to press the buttons on the microwave, and then leaned her hands on the counter in front of it, desperately trying to steady herself. She found herself wondering how much Angel had known to tell Spike, if he had thought to hold anything that he knew back from him – and just how much Spike might have remembered on his own.

 

“Angel – my sire – he told me – that I’m a vampire,” Spike began slowly, his words clear and certain, but still coming out with a cautious precision that was the only clear give-away as to how new those words really were to him. “He told me – what that means. What – he is to me. He – he made me what I am. He – he’s *family* to me.”

 

Spike was silent for a moment, and Buffy brought the warmed mug of blood, setting it down in front of him and taking a seat across the counter from him, though still not quite daring to meet his gaze as she waited for him to go on, her heart pounding in her chest, making it difficult to draw breath.

 

“I – I think I knew that already – before he told me. In a way,” Spike continued, and she could feel his piercing gaze boring into her, silently imploring her to look at him – but she just as silently refused. “I could *feel* it – knew that somehow he – he *belonged* to me – or – or I belonged to him – or…”

 

Spike’s voice trailed off uncertainly, and out of the corner of her eye, Buffy saw him shaking his head, at a loss for the first time this morning.

 

And in spite of the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach brought on by his questions – she felt incredibly proud of him.

 

His next words drew her attention back in, to the source of her anxious, fearful sick sensation.

 

“I – I feel it with you, too.”

 

Spike was silent for a moment, before going on, his voice trembling slightly with emotion. “I – I’m not sure what to call it. But – I feel it. With Dawn, too – but mostly with you. And – and I don’t know why. I asked Angel if – if you were family, too. He said yes…”

 

Spike paused for a moment, and Buffy finally did look up at him, startled by the words. A slightly rueful little smile on his lips, gratitude filling his eyes that she had finally looked up at him, Spike continued softly, and with an uncannily knowing tone that he should not have been able to have yet.

 

“…but he took a long time to say it. I – I’m not sure I believed him.”

 

The guileless question in his painfully expressive eyes would not allow her to look away again, as he repeated his initial question, with an earnest desperation in his solemn, apprehensively trembling voice.

 

“What was I to you, Buffy? What *am* I to you, now?”


	40. Chapter 40

*What was I to you? What *am* I to you, now?*

 

The almost painful vulnerability in those words, echoing through the Slayer’s mind again and again, made her wary of putting him off, giving him some vague, unsatisfying answer – taking the easy way out.

 

Her heart was pounding in her chest, her mind racing with panic – and yet she knew one thing, beyond all doubt.

 

There was no option but to tell him the truth.

 

She sighed heavily as she placed her fork down beside her plate and forced herself to meet those open, searching eyes, still focused unwavering on her own.

 

“Could you have possibly asked a harder question?” she asked wryly, yet with a softness that kept the words from being hurtful.

 

Spike *did* look confused though, frowning slightly as if he was unsure of what the correct answer was to her question – and Buffy was reminded that while most of his basic language skills seemed to have returned to him, subtleties such as sarcasm and slang were still quite a bit beyond Spike’s understanding.

 

“Never mind, Sweetie,” she reassured him, shaking her head and giving him a slightly shaky smile – unbelievably nervous now, when faced with the prospect of having to fill Spike in on their painful, confusing past together. “It’s just – it’s complicated. I mean – what *haven’t* we been to each other?”

 

Spike looked away from her for a moment, troubled and a bit embarrassed by his own failure to understand. “I – I don’t know,” he replied slowly, hesitantly. “I thought *you* did – that’s why I asked you…”

 

Buffy’s expression softened with sympathy, as she reached across the counter to take his hand in hers, and his gaze was drawn back up to hers by the affectionate gesture. “I – I’m really not sure I *do* know, Spike,” she confessed quietly. “I mean – I’ll do my best to answer that question, but – but I can’t guarantee that you’ll be happy with the answer.”

 

She hesitated a moment, swallowing hard, steeling herself before adding in a cautiously even voice, “In fact – when I’m finished – you probably won’t like me very much anymore.”

 

Spike’s puzzled frown deepened, and he shook his head slowly, arguing softly, “No – no, I – I don’t think that’s possible…”

 

Buffy’s laugh sounded harsh in the stillness that seemed to have fallen around the two of them, and she took her hand from his, putting both of her hands over her face for a moment as her shoulders shook with bitter laughter that could have been tears. When she looked up, her eyes *were* glittering suspiciously, as she faced Spike again.

 

“We’ll see,” she answered simply. “Just – finish your blood first. You’re going to need your strength for this day. And – and then come in the living room, and we’ll talk. Dawn shouldn’t be up for hours, so we’ll have plenty of time.”

 

Spike glanced down at her practically untouched plate of food, and then back up at her as she rose and poured her half-full glass of juice down the sink. “Aren’t you going to eat? You’ll need to be strong, too – right?”

 

“I’m always strong,” Buffy’s smile was painfully ironic, as she placed the glass in the sink and turned around to face him. “I just – don’t feel very hungry right now.” And with those words, she turned and walked out of the kitchen, hoping that Spike would give her a few minutes to ready herself for the difficult conversation she knew that they were about to have.

 

********************************

 

Spike hesitated, unsure of what to do next, once Buffy had left the kitchen.

 

His mug of blood was drained in moments, and although he had had several the past few mornings, he really did not have the appetite for more at the moment. Everything in him wanted nothing more than to toss the mug into the sink and hurry into the living room, dying for the answers to his countless questions.

 

But Buffy’s reaction had been clear to him, and he instinctively knew that she needed a few minutes, before answering those questions.

 

And as always before, as far as Spike was concerned – Buffy’s needs came first.

 

He sighed impatiently as he took the mug to the sink and rinsed it as she had shown him, before putting in the side of the sink that was already filled with warm, soapy water – and then turned around, leaning against the counter and looking toward the living room anxiously.

 

He was simply so confused.

 

His sire’s blood seemed to have opened up a whole new world of understanding to him – but it was also a world of perplexing images, fragmented half-memories, and questions to which he had no answers. He desperately hoped that Buffy might be able to clear up some of his confusion.

 

The problem was – she didn’t exactly seem as if she *wanted* to.

 

His first impulse was to let it go – do as she obviously wanted, and not push her for explanations.

 

But he knew that if he did not find answers soon, the wondering would drive him back to insanity.

 

When he could no longer stand the waiting – precisely two and a half minutes later – Spike finally took a deep, shaky breath, and made his way into the living room where Buffy was sitting on the sofa, her head resting in her hands. She did not look up as he slowly approached her, sitting down cautiously on the opposite end from where she sat, his wide eyes focused on her warily.

 

When she looked up at him, she smiled a little too brightly, and Spike could see that her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and still glistening with tears.

 

“Hey,” she said simply, patting the couch beside her as she added gently, “C’mere. While you still want to – okay?” As he obediently slid across the couch until he was within her reach, she put an affectionate hand on his leg, and finished with a bittersweet smile. “Because once you’ve heard this – I’m not so sure you will.”

 

Spike did not bother to argue with her, though he was pretty sure that there was nothing he could imagine that would make him *not* want to be near her. True, there were disturbing images in his mind now that he could not explain, and many of them involved Buffy – but after all he had been through at Xander’s hands, and the way Buffy had rescued him, done everything she could for him to help him to heal – he knew that he could never reject her now.

 

“What do you – do you remember – anything?” Buffy asked, her voice halting and a bit uncertain. “About – about us…before?”

 

Spike hesitated, unsure of how to answer. “I – think so,” he said finally, not looking at her. “I’m – not sure. There are – pictures – words…” He shook his head, momentarily at a loss. “They – don’t make sense. I was hoping – maybe – you could – could help me understand…”

 

By the time he finished, his voice was barely over a whisper, and trembling as much as he was, when he looked up at her through tear-filled eyes.

 

“Buffy,” he whispered, his voice heavy with emotion. “I have to know.”

 

“Okay,” Buffy began, her eyes wide and nervous as she looked away. “Um – where should I start?” she muttered, more to herself than to Spike.

 

He answered anyway. “Where did – where did *we* start?”

 

Startled by the slight edge to his voice, the faint note of the acute perception that had always been so much a part of who Spike was, before his ordeal, Buffy looked up at him suddenly – a slow smile spreading across her face with the fond memories that flooded her mind, of a look very similar to the look that was on his face just then – piercing and understanding, giving her the impression that whatever she was trying to hide at the moment was somehow laid bare to his eyes.

 

“Okay,” she agreed with a slow nod. “I guess you might say ‘we’ started – in an alley, not far from here. You watched me kill a vampire – and then you told me you were going to kill me. On Saturday.”

 

Spike’s eyes widened in alarm. “*Why*?” he asked, aghast at the idea.

 

Buffy had to make an effort not to laugh out loud. “Did Angel explain to you what a vampire is?”

 

Spike nodded, his eyes still wide and stricken as he stared at her, still horrified that he had ever made such a threat.

 

“Okay,” Buffy nodded again in acceptance. “What about – a vampire *slayer*?”

 

Spike’s blank look was all the answer she needed.

 

“Okay…here goes…”

 

*****************************

 

Half an hour later, Buffy had managed to get through “The Story of Us”, Buffy-and-Spike version, up to the point of her death on Glory’s tower – or, more accurately, *off* Glory’s tower. She did not think that she had left out *too* much – she had been doing her best to be as honest as possible – and now, she was beginning to feel more than a little exhausted, from the reliving of so many intense memories.

 

“You died.” Spike’s voice sounded more than a little stunned – as if the whole story had him in a bit of shock.

 

“Yes.”

 

“But – you’re here.”

 

Buffy looked up at him with a little half-smile. “So are you.”

 

There was a brief flash of self-deprecating amusement in the vampire’s blue eyes, as he shrugged slightly and met her apprehensive gaze. “Yes. I am.” He paused, taking in a breath as if to speak – and then hesitating. Then, all at once he blurted out, “I was in love with you – wasn’t I?”

 

Buffy felt all of the breath sucked out of her in a single instant, the world spinning around her, as she tried to steady herself from the stunning blow that was that simple, profound question.

 

“D-do you – even know – what that means, Spike? To be – in love?” she stammered, aware that she was pitifully stalling. “I mean – we haven’t – talked about…”

 

“I remember,” he answered softly, his eyes focused on the floor, his body tensing slightly under her hand as he swallowed hard – suddenly seeming terribly self-conscious.

 

Buffy could not help asking, though her voice trembling with a rush of emotion. “*How*? How, out of all the memories that you’ve lost, do you still remember love?”

 

Spike was silent for a long moment, shaking his head slightly, as unaccountably, a tear streaked down his cheek from one downcast blue eye. Suddenly, he looked up at her, his eyes welling with a powerful emotion that took her completely off guard – overwhelming her with a torrent of love, pain, shame…all of the feelings that her relationship with Spike had inspired in her over the years, all at once – and to a level of intensity that was almost physically unbearable, as he answered in a breathless, tremulous whisper.

 

“How could I forget?”

 

Buffy found that even if she had had the words, in that moment, to respond – her throat had closed up on her, refusing to allow it, as tears coursed down her cheeks.

 

*Of course,* she thought with an overwhelming sense of love for this vampire that seemed to have the capacity to love beyond any human man she had ever known. *Of course, Spike would remember love. If he forgot everything else – he would never forget love…oh, Buffy, how could you have been such a fool? All those years – so much wasted…*

 

“You – you didn’t want me…didn’t love me…did you?”

 

Buffy flinched at the lost, fearful sound of his voice – suddenly terribly vulnerable, as Spike looked back down at his lap, obviously afraid to hear the answer that he somehow already knew. He had told her that he had regained snatches of memory – random words and pictures that, without her putting them together into the full story, were meaningless to him.

 

Apparently, she had told him enough by now to allow him to put some of the pieces together.

 

“I was stupid,” she answered simply, not thinking about the words before they were out there. “I – I didn’t know – I – should have…”

 

“I’m a monster.”

 

Momentarily stunned to silence, Buffy’s eyes widened in dismay before she finally managed to gasp out, “*What*?”

 

Spike would not look at her, and she suddenly realized that he was shrinking back a bit from her hand on his leg, trembling violently now, though not quite pulling away from her. “Y-you said so. Said I’m – an evil thing. Bad.”

 

Buffy felt the sobs of guilt and anguish swelling up inside her at his words. There was no accusation in them – in fact, his voice sounded as if he felt that the blame rested with *him* -- but that only served to make her heart feel all the more condemned, for the way she had treated him in the months before he had been so irrevocably changed.

 

“Spike,” she whispered, shaking her head as she turned to face him, reaching out her arms to take him in. “Spike, no…you’re not…”

 

This time, he did pull away from her, backing away, fearful eyes fastened on her as he interrupted, shaking his head, “D-deserved it…didn’t I? I was – I was – bad…that’s why you – you couldn’t l-love me…right? Because I was bad…couldn’t feel…couldn’t love…monster…”

 

With each cruel echo of the words she had spoken to him not so very long ago, Buffy’s heart broke again. “No, Spike,” she sobbed, tears streaming down her face as she took his arms in her hands, trying desperately to catch his gaze, though he kept his eyes emphatically averted, refusing. “No, please listen to me! It wasn’t you – it was – it was me…I was the one who couldn’t…who didn’t…oh, Spike, I’m so sorry! I was the monster, Baby – I hurt you so much, and I’m so, so sorry!”

 

Seemingly heedless of her words, Spike momentarily resisted as she put her arms around him – and then just as quickly relented, clinging to her desperately with shaking hands, sobs to match her own torn from his throat with his tears, as he gasped out, “Please – please, Buffy – I know I’m not – I know I d-don’t deserve – but – please – please, Buffy, please *love me*! Please!”

 

Buffy simply had no words – suddenly faced with the plea that had been mostly silent, all of the previous two years, but nevertheless, *there*, in every unnaturally noble gesture, every ill-received gift and token of his affection that he had offered her, only to have every last one cast aside, with no thought to his broken heart, his shattered feelings.

 

*All that time -- *this* is what he was saying…all he wanted from me,* Buffy realized with a fresh onslaught of shame at the truth. *So much pain – so much suffering, for both of us – could have been avoided…if only I’d have…*

 

Stripped of her preconceived notions of what Spike was – of the burning rage and resentment toward herself, and anyone who dared to love her in her broken condition the whole past year – of every last defense that had kept her from admitting the truth for so long – Buffy finally broke down, the truth spilling from her lips unfettered.

 

“I do,” she sobbed out passionately, holding him close to her, although at this point he was making no attempt to pull away. “Spike, I do love you! I think – I think I always have – I was just too – scared, and stupid…I love you…I really do, Spike…I love you so much!”


	41. Chapter 41

When Dawn woke up the next morning – in her own bed for the first time since Spike had come home – she immediately headed downstairs to find he sister, a sense of nervous excitement fluttering in her stomach at the thought that today, they would carry out their plan to prove once and for all, beyond all doubt, that Xander was the one who had hurt Spike.

 

And from there, she thought with grim satisfaction – they could proceed to the punishment.

 

“Buffy?” she called loudly as she made her way down the stairs. “Where are you?”

 

Her sister did not answer – but as she reached the bottom of the stairs, she saw the answer to her question – Buffy and Spike, nestled close together on the sofa, talking quietly. Dawn opened her mouth to repeat her greeting – and then hesitated when she noticed the solemn, intense expressions on their faces.

 

She had no idea what they had been talking about, but she suddenly thought better of interrupting the conversation.

 

She turned silently on the stairs, making her way cautiously back up them, trying not to draw their attention in the process – but failing in the attempt.

 

“Morning, Dawnie,” Buffy’s unusually soft voice stopped her, and she turned back toward her sister and her friend with a sheepish, apologetic smile.

 

“Morning,” she replied a bit awkwardly. “It -- *is* still – morning, isn’t it?”

 

Glancing at her watch, Buffy smirked. “Just barely.”

 

Dawn’s curiosity got the better of her, now that she had her sister’s permission to be there, and she asked a bit uncertainly, “Is – everything okay, Buffy?”

 

Buffy’s smile was a bit wavery, as if she was either on the verge of tears, or had just finished crying, as she nodded and reassured her, “Yeah. Everything’s great, Dawnie. We’ve just been – talking – catching up a little – you know?”

 

“Uh…*huh*.” Dawn replied with understandable skepticism, considering the fact that when she had gone to bed the night before, Spike had not really been all that capable of carrying on a normal conversation, let alone one involving his almost completely forgotten past…

 

Her eyes suddenly widened with hopeful excitement. “Wait – are you saying – does he *remember*…?”

 

Buffy’s nod was punctuated with a brilliant smile. “Yes,” she replied. “He’s remembering a lot of things – you know, in bits and pieces,” she clarified with a shrug. “But – Angel helped him a lot last night…”

 

“Whoa…what…*Angel*?” Dawn was not quite sure how she felt about the older vampire who had played such an important part in her older sister’s life – but she was stunned that Buffy would have allowed him to spend much time with Spike at this point.

 

Her sister could be very possessive when it came to things like this.

 

“It’s a long story – I’ll fill you in – but…he’s talking a lot better…and he’s remembering things…”

 

“And also,” Spike broke in softly, to the surprise of both girls, a slightly ironic smile of amusement on his face, “he’s – sitting right here.”

 

“Oh my gosh!” Dawn squealed in a sudden, breathless rush, crossing the distance between the foot of the stairs and the couch in an instant. “Spike, you’re really back! Oh, wow, this is *so* cool! I can’t believe…”

 

Her excited outburst suddenly broke off when Spike flinched slightly at he sudden approach – and then immediately winced at the hurt expression on her face.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, shaking his head in disgust at his own reaction. “So sorry, love…I just…I mean…I’m just a bit…”

 

“Confused,” Buffy supplied for him softly, the expression on her face tender and sympathetic as she ran a gentle hand through his tousled hair in a reassuring gesture of comfort. “Overwhelmed.”

 

Spike nodded, looking down at his lap and swallowing hard, trying to control the emotions that had been engulfing him all morning, in the wake of so many old memories, all of which seemed so very new to him. Without another word, Buffy pulled him gently into her arms, holding him for a few moments, soothing him.

 

Dawn stared at them for a long moment, feeling the sting of tears behind her eyes, but setting her jaw against allowing them to show, as she turned and started toward the kitchen. “I’ll just – I’m just gonna get…”

 

“Dawn,” Spike’s voice was slightly raspy with tears – but so much more like the old Spike she remembered than she had heard him sound yet. As he spoke, he reached out and caught her hand in his, without pulling away from Buffy’s embrace.

 

Dawn turned to see him looking up at her with wide, pleading blue eyes. “Need you, Dawnie,” he assured her softly. “Please – don’t be mad – don’t go…”

 

Touched by his simple plea, and the sincerity she saw in his eyes, Dawn immediately relented, turning back toward him fully and moving in close, putting her arms around him so that he was surrounded on all sides by the loving embrace of “his girls”.

 

The feeling of safety, certainty, in the midst of his confusion, was almost more than Spike could take – but it filled him with a sense of relief and reassurance, and he clung to both girls, his head bowed, as he allowed his tears to flow silently, unchecked, down onto his lap.

 

“Shhh,” Buffy soothed him, one gentle hand at the back of his head, cradling his head close to her chest. “It’s all right. I know it’s got to be so confusing, Sweetheart. So many memories – and so many new things – and it’s gotta be so hard to even tell which is which right now…”

 

Spike nodded firmly, without saying a word, sniffling back tears as he indicated that her assessment of what he was experiencing was pretty much right.

 

“But I want you to know this, Spike,” she whispered, yet loud enough that Dawn could hear her, too. “We love you – more than you can possibly imagine. And – I know a lot of those memories aren’t good – especially – a lot of your memories of *me* -- and if I could take them back, I would – you have to know that…but I can’t…”

 

Buffy paused, resisting the impulse to meet her sister’s narrowed, questioning eyes, over Spike’s bowed head – focusing instead on getting her message through to him.

 

“…I just want things to be better, from now on. I just want to – to help you get better Spike, and I promise not to ever hurt you again, Sweetie. I want you to know that – all that’s happened to you – you *didn’t* deserve it. It was *not* your fault – and I’m *not* going to let it happen again. You’re safe here. Me and Dawnie – we won’t let anything happen to you, anyone hurt you…after tonight, no one will ever touch you again that you don’t *want* to touch you, okay?”

 

Spike nodded gratefully, eagerly accepting those reassuring words, as the last of his tears died away, and he pulled slowly, awkwardly away from the two girls, leaning back against the sofa with a slightly self-conscious little half-smile, his sapphire eyes luminous with his remaining unshed tears.

 

Dawn was startled at the depth of concern and affection she saw in her sister’s eyes, as Buffy drew back, smiling warmly and reassuringly at Spike as she stood up from the couch.

 

“You gonna be okay here for a few minutes?” she asked him, nodding with him when he responded in the affirmative. Turning her eyes to Dawn, Buffy said, “Let’s go get some breakfast, Dawnie.”

 

The younger sister did not feel all that great about leaving Spike alone in the living room, right after such an emotional scene, but when she glanced uncertainly at him, he smiled up at her, his fingers tapping the remote control on the arm of the sofa beside him, in a meaningful little gesture that was encouragingly like the old Spike – and she realized with pleased surprise that he really would be okay while they were gone.

 

Once they were alone in the kitchen, Dawn turned on her sister.

 

“Okay – so what the heck happened while I was asleep?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, her eyebrows raised in expectation.

 

“Angel said he could help Spike – being his sire and all,” Buffy told her, breaking eye contact as she moved to the refrigerator and took out a carton of eggs. “So I let him. And – and it seems like it really helped a lot. This morning, he came to me – talking almost like he used to…and asked me about…before…”

 

“He called me ‘love’,” Dawn recalled with a slow nod, her eyes lighting up with hope. “That means he’s got to be remembering a little, right? Because none of us use that word like that – not even Giles.” Suddenly she frowned, looking back up at Buffy as she asked, “What *about* before?”

 

“He *does* remember,” Buffy chose to address the first comment, and thereby avoid the second one. “Quite a bit – only, it was all fragmented before. Just bits and pieces that didn’t make sense to him. So – he wanted to know – basically, everything. I sat down with him and told him the whole story, since we met him – and then, some of his own memories started to fall into place, you know? He started getting back -- *more* than bits and pieces.”

 

Dawn’s eyes widened at the impact of what Buffy was saying. “Thus the huge emotional outburst scene in the living room,” she guessed.

 

Buffy nodded, turning back to face her sister for a moment before cracking an egg into a pan on the stove. “Times like, six or seven,” she informed Dawn in a slightly weary voice. “Every now and then, something I would say would – would hit him just so, and it’d bring back a ton of stuff, all at once…and some of it was a little – hard to deal with. It’s been off and on tears all morning.”

 

Dawn frowned thoughtfully, as she began counting off on her fingers, “The chip…Mom…you – leaving…hmmm…” She looked up at her sister with a falsely bright smile, though her eyes were glittering with a dangerous warning. “That’s only like *three* emotional outbursts worth of stuff you could have told him about…I wonder what the rest were all about?”

 

Buffy studiously ignored her, focusing on the eggs she was flipping out of the pan and onto a plate on the counter.

 

“What exactly did you mean in there, about all those ‘bad memories’ of you, Buffy?” Dawn asked her, in an almost frighteningly soft voice – and Buffy could not bring herself to turn around and face her.

 

Much to Buffy’s relief, she was saved from the requirement of answering, by a sudden knock on the kitchen door.

 

“Wow, they’re early,” Dawn remarked, frowning in surprise at the unexpected interruption.

 

“No, it’s late,” Buffy pointedly corrected her, still not looking at her as she went toward the door. “It’s already 1:30, Dawnie. You’d better go in the living room and check on Spike, because he’s probably a little scared already, hearing the knock and not knowing who it is. I’ll let them in, and I’ll let you know when your breakfast is ready.”

 

Dawn glared at her back for a moment, muttering, “Fine,” as she turned and walked out into the living room.

 

Silently, she added to herself, *But this conversation is *not* over, Buffy…I wanna know what it is that you’re not telling me…*

 

***********************************

 

  
Anya and Giles were at the door – surprisingly, together, Buffy noticed.

 

“Hey, guys,” she smiled as she stood back to let them in. “Sorry about my state of – um – pajamas,” she shrugged as she returned to the stove, and laid a few strips of bacon in the pan. “We got kind of a late start this morning. We had – kind of a late night.”

 

“That’s okay, we did, too,” Anya shrugged, and the Slayer noticed that her smile seemed extra bright this morning, and for a change, not the least bit false.

 

Buffy raised her eyebrows skeptically, looking with confusion between the beaming Anya, and the blushing Giles, who was emphatically clearing his throat in the vengeance demon’s general direction.

 

“Separately, of course,” Anya added, giving the Watcher a questioning look that was all too obvious. “*Separate* -- late…nights.”

 

As she was prone to do with most disturbing or unpleasant facts that threatened to make themselves known to her – Buffy blocked it out.

 

“So we’re prepared to carry out this plan, then?” Giles asked her, focusing firmly on her face, not looking at Anya at all. “All present and accounted for?”

 

“Not yet,” Buffy replied. “Angel’s not up yet.”

 

At Giles’ look of alarm and surprise, she clarified, “He spent the night – in the basement! Come on, Giles, I wouldn’t be that stupid twice! He just stayed because he was up late with Spike, and…”

 

Buffy gave up when she realized that her explanations were not serving to make her Watcher feel much better at all.

 

“It’s a vampire thing,” she waved it off as she put the finishing touches on Dawn’s breakfast and set it on the island counter.  “Anyway – he’ll be up before Xander comes over. He doesn’t get off work until five, anyway. In short, we’re not ready now – but we will be.”

 

********************************

 

In spite of Dawn’s not-so-subtle pressing, Spike did not tell her what she wanted to know – the worst of the memories he had just regained involving his past relationship with her sister. He knew that she was concerned, and very protective of him, and wanted only to be sure that no one – not even Buffy – hurt him...but in his opinion, that was all the more reason for him to keep his mouth shut.

 

The last thing he wanted was to cause trouble between the two most important people in his life.

 

Actually, at that moment, Spike really wanted nothing more than to be alone – and much to his relief, Buffy had called Dawn into the kitchen at that moment, to eat the breakfast she had prepared for her.

 

He loved the girl very much, and was grateful for her comforting presence – but at the moment, he just needed to *think*.

 

The amount of information that he had taken in, both from Buffy’s recounting, and from his own recovering memory, was staggering – and he really just wanted a little bit of time to allow it to sink in.

 

As Buffy had told him the story of how their relationship had progressed, from mortal enemies, to friends, to not-quite-lovers – it had all gradually come flooding back to him. In a way, it felt like a very vivid dream – a movie of someone else’s life, that he had seen, but was not really a part of at all.

 

And in another way, it was painfully, excruciatingly real.

 

Buffy had reassured him, promised him that she loved him, that she had been wrong to hurt him the way that she had, that she no longer meant the cruel things she had said to him over and over again – but a part of him had a hard time believing it.

 

A part of him could still hear, too clearly, very similar words being spoken by another voice – telling him how worthless and vile and bad he was, how unworthy of anything but suffering.

 

And Spike had no idea which voice was telling him the truth anymore: Buffy, when she said that she loved him – or the other voice, when it said that he could never deserve that love.

 

All he knew was that he desperately *wanted* to believe Buffy’s voice, when she told him that she wanted to do nothing but love him and protect him, that she would never allow anyone to hurt him again.

 

*Stupid,* Xander’s voice echoed in his head, derisive and full of mocking disgust. *Don’t you get it? This is her perfect chance! I told you she’d get sick of your stupid, annoying mistakes – that she’d see how bad and worthless you are – and give you back to me! That’s all she’s doing, Spike! That’s how this day is going to end – she’s going to give you back to me!*

 

Spike shuddered at the thought, and forced himself to play Buffy’s promises over in his head, clinging to them like a lifeline – desperately reassuring himself that she had meant the things she had said.

 

*She loves me – she wouldn’t hurt me – she loves me – please – oh, please, Buffy, please *love me*!*


	42. Chapter 42

By around four-thirty that afternoon, those of the Scoobies who were involved in Buffy’s plan to trap Xander were gathered at her house, talking in quiet, slightly nervous tones, in various areas of the house. In theory, most of them really had very little reason to be nervous, as they did not really have any major part in the plan, beyond simply witnessing the outcome.

 

In theory.

 

The reality of it was that none of them really *wanted* to have it proven to them, beyond all doubt, that Xander was the guilty party. Each of them would much rather have had the plan absolve him of their suspicions, would rather have been able to accept him again as the friend they had considered him to be for so long.

 

And although no one said it – Spike knew that was how they felt.

 

And that knowledge terrified him.

 

Buffy had called Xander a couple of hours earlier, and invited him over for a “movie night” with the rest of the group. He had agreed to come over right after he got off work, and to bring pizza and snacks with him as well. Buffy had accepted his offer – though she could not imagine that she would actually be hungry.

 

As they waited for Xander to arrive, Anya and Giles sat suspiciously close together on the sofa, talking in quiet, sober tones. Buffy and Angel walked out of the kitchen, engaged in a conversation that was somehow both subdued and agitated. Sitting in a corner of the living room on the floor with Spike, Dawn could tell without hearing them what they were arguing about.

 

As for Spike – he could hear every word.

 

“He’s not ready, Buffy, I’m telling you – this is a very bad idea! It’s not safe!” Angel insisted vehemently.

 

“Of course it’s safe!” Buffy scoffed at his concern. “We’re in my *house*, Angel! And it’s *Xander*. What’s he gonna do once he’s caught, anyway, that I can’t handle?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” Angel shrugged sarcastically. “Shoot you?”

 

His words momentarily startled her to silence. When she did finally respond, her voice was barely over a whisper. “He wouldn’t…” she began, but she did not sound the least bit certain of what she was saying.

 

“Yeah, you’ve been saying a lot of that lately,” Angel reminded her, cutting her off impatiently. “But you’ve mostly been wrong, haven’t you? What if he *does* shoot you? What if he shoots *Spike* again? You said he told you that Xander already managed to get a gun in here at least once.”

 

“I can handle it,” Buffy replied tersely. “Look – this is the only way that Giles and Anya are truly gonna accept this…not to mention Willow…if we try to tell her about this, without absolute proof, she’s gonna totally flip…”

 

“You know what I think?” Angel interrupted her, a slightly accusing tone to his voice. “I think this is the only way that *you* can really accept this, Buffy! And considering the fact that Spike *told* you what happened – after all he’s been through – I think that’s pretty selfish of you!”

 

“Yeah, well, so was waiting around in LA for three months while your childe was busy being chained up and tortured.”

 

The words were out before she could stop them – and she immediately regretted them, even before Angel’s visible flinch.

 

“I’m sorry,” she spoke up softly, her eyes guiltily averted. “It’s just – we’ve all made mistakes in this Angel, not just me. I’ve made a lot of them even *before* Spike was hurt – a lot of assumptions about him that turned out to be wrong – and I’m still trying to make up for that. He was my friend – more than that, really – but I refused to accept that.”

 

She was silent for a long moment before suddenly looking up at Angel again, her gaze steady and determined as she finished, “I refuse to do that to a friend again -- *any* friend. I – I have to know beyond all doubt before I can do anything about it.”

 

Angel was unmoved by her explanation, just glaring at her stonily for a moment, in anger at her stubborn refusal to see the truth, and resentment at her cruelly stinging accusation of moments earlier.

 

“Fine,” he muttered finally. “Do this your way. But I don’t care what you think about it, Buffy, I have no intention of letting that boy hurt my childe again!”

 

“Good,” Buffy replied coolly without hesitation. “Neither do I.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Fine!”

 

“*Okay*!”

 

They were both silent again, engaged in a fierce glaring match, before Angel suddenly relented, demanding in a tone of irritation, “Do you have any blood around here? Human would be good for a change – I’m feeling the need to kill something right now!”

 

“In the fridge,” Buffy snapped back, “It’s human, but sorry, nobody died donating it to the hospital. Sorry to disappoint you.”

 

Although the implication of her words was very irritating to him, Angel’s tone was one of practiced restraint, as he ground out, “Oh, well – maybe I’ll get the chance to kill something tonight anyway.”

 

And with those words, he stalked off into the kitchen, leaving a troubled Slayer staring after him in pensive worry.

 

************************************

 

Dawn was talking with forced cheer, trying to keep his spirits up – had been for the past several minutes, in fact – but Spike had not heard a single word she had spoken.

 

His attention was focused firmly on the conversation taking place across the room, between his sire, and the Slayer who had come to mean so much to him. He was looking at Dawn, but glancing at them frequently, all the while his ears attuned carefully to catch every word that passed between them.

 

He had desperately hoped that Angel might be able to convince Buffy to forget about the plan, to just accept what he had told her and go from there – but she had stubbornly insisted on carrying out this plan – the plan that was supposed to take place in less than thirty minutes…

 

…the plan that had Spike shaking with the terror of once again facing his enemy -- *alone*.

 

“*Spike*?”

 

He jumped without meaning to, at the sudden sharp voice of the girl next to him, raised slightly when she suddenly realized that he had not been paying any attention to what she had been saying.

 

As his wide eyes turned dutifully toward her again, and she noted the panicked expression in them, the trembling that had overtaken his body – her jaw set with stubborn determination that was every bit the match for her sister’s, and she rose to her feet, unexpectedly grasping his hand and pulling him up beside her.

 

“Come on,” she muttered as she led him toward her sister, who was still standing near the middle of the room, staring toward the kitchen where Angel had disappeared.

 

Spike realized – too late – what it was that she meant to do, but there was no time to try to avoid Buffy’s gaze, before her troubled eyes had fallen on his trembling, anxious form.

 

“We can’t do this, Buffy,” Dawn declared firmly.

 

“We *have* to do this…” The Slayer’s voice was tired from defending her plan so vigorously to Angel.

 

“Look at him, Buffy. We can’t do this to him!” Dawn insisted, her own voice trembling with angry indignation. “He’s scared out of his mind…we can’t make him go through this…”

 

Spike ventured a glance up at Buffy for just a moment, hopeful that she might agree – but his heart sank when he saw the look of disappointed dismay in her eyes as she took in his fearful state – and he suddenly felt very ashamed of his own weakness, his lack of trust, which was jeopardizing the plan that was obviously so very important to her.

 

“No,” he objected in a soft whisper, shaking his head and lowering his gaze in nervous submission. “No, i-it’s all right…I-I’ll do it, Buffy…it’s – it’s okay…”

 

Dawn raised her eyebrows at his obvious reluctance, meeting her sister’s eyes with a pointed look, as if to say, *See?*

 

Buffy’s teeth worried at her lower lip, as she moved in slowly closer to Spike, placing her hands soothingly, protectively, on his trembling arms and pulling him in closer to her, her searching gaze drawing his eyes unwillingly up to hers.

 

“Hey,” she said softly, coaxingly. “It’s okay, Spike – are you – are you too scared? Do you not want to do this?”

 

Spike hesitated, desperately wanting to tell her that *yes*, he was terrified – and this plan was the last thing he wanted to do. But – he could hear the reluctance in her voice…knew what answer she really wanted from him.

 

He hesitated just a moment, and could not bring himself to speak, as he shook his head slowly in denial.

 

“Buffy, he’s so lying!” Dawn burst out in exasperation. “Can’t you see that?”

 

Her sharply spoken words sent a stab of fear through Spike’s heart, as in his experience, to be accused of lying was something that was usually followed by brutal punishment.

 

“No,” he whispered almost desperately, shaking his head, his eyes lowered, unable to meet either girl’s gaze. “No, please – I’m not – it’s okay – really, it’s okay, Buffy, please…”

 

“Shhh,” she whispered, her eyes widening in alarm at his sudden fear, as she ran her hands gently up and down his arms in a soothing gesture. “Hey – it’s okay, Spike…it’s all right…” Buffy paused, frowning thoughtfully for a moment, before she suggested gently, “Let’s talk about this, okay? Let’s go upstairs and talk about this…”

 

As she spoke, she put a guiding arm around his shoulders and turned them toward the stairs – effectively shutting Dawn out.

 

Dawn would have none of it.

 

“Oh, I *so* don’t think so!” she snapped, moving swiftly to block their path up the stairs. “You are so not going to take him up there and do your best to talk him into it! If he doesn’t want to do this, then you can’t make him!”

 

Buffy’s eyes widened in angry indignation, as she gasped with offended surprise, “I’m not going to do any such thing! I just want to talk to Spike -- *alone* -- and see if I can get him calmed down enough to tell me how he really feels about this! *You’re* certainly not helping, all you’re doing is making him more nervous! So just back off – before I *back* you off.”

 

Dawn’s eyes widened at the subtle half-threat in her sister’s voice, and her eyes narrowed in challenge. “Oh, I’d *love* to see you…”

 

Without waiting for her to finish, Buffy released Spike long enough to firmly grasp her sister’s arms and use her supernaturally greater strength to physically move her out of the way.

 

She had not hurt her in the least – but she had made her point.

 

Frustrated, Dawn glared at Buffy’s retreating back, as the Slayer guided a shaken Spike up the stairs to her room.

 

“Fine! Just push me around! Just push *everybody* around until they do exactly what you want them to, Buffy! It’s what you’re best at, isn’t it?” Dawn practically yelled up the stairs after her – though Buffy ignored her completely.

 

Fuming, Dawn spun around – to see that the attention of Anya, Giles, and Angel – who had just returned to the living room with a mug of blood – was all focused on her in surprise.

 

“Can’t any of you people just mind your own bloody business for a change?” she muttered petulantly, as she stalked off into the kitchen, slamming her way down into the basement…

 

…and although it was out of the range of the humans in the room, Angel was pretty sure that he heard her muttering as she went about her “selfish, super-hero, super-powered, super-*bitch* older sister”.

 

**********************************

 

“You’re sure? You’re really sure, Spike, because we can call this off if you want to…?”

 

The continued hope in her voice kept Spike from accepting her half-hearted offer, and he just shook his head weakly. “No,” he whispered. “No, it’s okay – I can do it…I just – Buffy…” He hesitated, before asking her in a desperate, pleading whisper, “…what if he…what if you can’t get here in time? What if he…”

 

“He’s not going to hurt you, Spike,” Buffy promised him softly. “I’m faster than he is, stronger than he is – I can get into this room before he can lay a hand on you, I promise. It’ll just take a few seconds to get all the evidence we need, and then it will be over, I promise. And he’ll never, *ever* touch you again – okay?”

 

“Okay,” Spike whispered automatically, swallowing back a sob of dreadful resignation – which Buffy somehow missed, in her eagerness to have everything fall into perfect place, as she had planned.

 

“Okay,” she echoed with obvious relief. “It’s gonna be okay. I promise, Spike. Everything is going to be fine.”

 

As she spoke, Buffy pulled him closer to her, until his head was resting on her shoulder, and she placed an affectionate kiss on his temple, as she put her arms around him and held him close to her for a few blissfully reassuring moments.

 

In her arms, held close in her protective embrace, Spike could believe that no one could ever hurt him – that she would keep her promise to protect him. He could almost succeed in completely driving out the painful memories of his time in helpless captivity – and the painful memories of the time – that had come *before*.

 

*She’s not the same…she loves you…she wouldn’t hurt you now,* he told himself with a desperate fervency.

 

*Please,* the other voice, the one that sounded frighteningly like Xander’s scoffed at the first voice. *She doesn’t love you – you don’t deserve it…she’s gonna take the first chance she gets to choose him over you…and he’s gonna *kill* you – just like he always said he would…*

 

*No – no, he can’t…she wouldn’t…*

 

The intense mental struggle, the warring voices in Spike’s head, suddenly fell silent, drowned out by a single, simple sound.

 

The ringing of a doorbell.


	43. Chapter 43

Spike’s body went perfectly still in Buffy’s arms, at the death knell that was the sound of the doorbell downstairs. He fought back a sick sensation of panic that rose up in his throat, fought back the desperate desire to beg her to let him back out of the plan.  
  
But he *did* fight it back.  
  
“It’s gonna be okay,” Buffy whispered to him reassuringly one last time, hugging him close to her for a few moments before releasing him and standing up, taking his hand and leading him toward the door.  
  
Before they had reached it, it burst open, and Dawn rushed into the room.  
  
“He’s here!” she hissed in a stage whisper. “Xander’s here!”  
  
“I know.” Buffy’s voice was carefully calm. “We’re ready.”  
  
Dawn studied her sister’s expression, and then Spike’s fearful but heartbreakingly brave face, for a long moment before saying a word. Then, she cast her sister a look of disgusted dismissal, as she stepped in close to Spike, holding his gaze intently as she spoke in a soft, firm voice.  
  
“You *don’t* have to do this. You know that, right?”  
  
Spike nodded silently, swallowing hard, and fighting back the tears that rose in his eyes at her words.  
  
“If you want to back out of this – you can, Spike – nobody’s gonna stop you.” Another angry glare found its way to the Slayer as she spoke those words.  
  
“It’s – it’s okay, Dawn,” Spike insisted quietly, and his voice was much firmer now than it had been downstairs. “I promise, love…it’s all right. I’ll – I’ll be fine.”  
  
“See?” Buffy said in a tone of pointed satisfaction.  
  
Dawn completely ignored her.  
  
With a weary sigh, Buffy said, “I’m gonna go on down. You two come on down in a minute or two, so he won’t suspect anything. Then we’ll do it – just like we planned.”  
  
“Just like *you* planned,” Dawn muttered her correction, once she was sure that her sister was out of earshot. She focused her full attention on Spike as she repeated with concern, “Spike – are you sure? You really don’t have to…”  
  
“I’m sure,” he interrupted softly, looking down at the floor and swallowing hard. “I can do this – and – and it’ll be over in a few minutes, yeah? I’ll – I’ll be fine.”  
  
Dawn did not seem convinced, but she knew that Spike had made up his mind to go through with it, no matter how terrified he was – just to please Buffy. She sighed, knowing that she was not going to be able to change his mind – or his intense, even unreasonable, loyalty to her sister.  
  
“You can change your mind,” she reminded him in a tone of quiet resignation. “At any time. Any time you decide you don’t want to do this – just tell me, and I’ll talk to Buffy – okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Spike nodded, his voice even softer now, and a bit uncertain. “But – I won’t be changing my mind, Dawn.”  
  
“Okay,” she agreed, her hands raised in a backing-off gesture. “Just – if you do.”  
  
He nodded again, accepting her words.   
  
She took his hand, giving it a gentle, reassuring squeeze, as she started toward the stairs. She paused in the doorway, her hand resting on the handle for a moment, a thoughtful frown on her face as she studied it.  
  
“Even if you – you get up here,” she continued as an after thought. “And you decide *then* that you just can’t stand the thought of being alone with him at all – all you have to do is lock this door.” She demonstrated as she spoke, turning the lock and unturning it again. “He won’t be able to get in – and when he comes back down and says so – I’ll know you changed your mind, and I’ll tell Buffy – okay?”  
  
Spike’s eyes widened slightly as the image of Xander coming through that bedroom door – into a room which would instantly become a claustrophobic trap with the addition of the boy’s stifling, terrifying presence – flooded his mind with fresh panic.  
  
Suddenly, he was not all that sure that he might not take advantage of what Dawn was suggesting.  
  
“Okay,” he agreed with a slightly more emphatic nod, his voice trembling slightly. “I – I’ll remember.”  
  
Together, hand in hand, Dawn and Spike descended the stairs.  
  
Both carefully avoided the gaze of the young carpenter who was standing in the foyer – Spike, out of sheer terror, unable even to lift his eyes to his face; Dawn, knowing that if she once met his eyes, he would certainly be able to see the burning hatred that had to be in her gaze now.   
  
Dawn followed Spike’s lead, without releasing his hand, as he led her across the room to where Buffy was seated on the couch with Giles and Anya – giving Xander a wide berth as he did – and knelt on the floor beside the Slayer, his trembling hand resting on her knee, desperate for the slight reassurance that her nearness provided.  
  
He could feel his terror mounting, his thoughts spinning out of control in panic, as he struggled to keep a rein on his emotions – just to *get through this*!  
  
“What’s the matter, Baby?” Buffy asked him gently, reaching her hand down to gently run through his hair in a soothing caress – but he could hear the slightly false edge to her voice – the sound that reminded him that even this gesture, these words, were a part of her plan…and that whether by ignorance or by choice, the Slayer had no idea how truly terrified he was, how little of his trembling, fearful manner was an act.  
  
He shook his head, lowering it to rest on his hand on her knee, choking back very real sobs – unable to bring himself to answer.  
  
“Hey,” she pressed him gently, reaching down a hand to tilt his chin up, forcing him to raise his head to look at her. “It’s okay – what’s wrong, Spike?”  
  
He kept his eyes averted – somehow unable to meet her gaze – as he waited for the plan to play out around him as Buffy had known that it would.  
  
“Hey, Spike.” Xander’s voice was soft, cautiously non-confrontational, as he took a slow step toward the trembling vampire, one hand extended in front of him, as if Spike was a particularly skittish and dangerous dog. “Hey, Buddy – remember me?”  
  
Xander met Buffy’s eyes in a hesitant question over Spike’s head, and after a moment’s feigned consideration, the Slayer bit her lip a bit anxiously, and nodded her assent.   
  
“It’s just Xander,” she softly soothed the vampire, running her fingers through his hair. “Remember? From the other night, when you had that really bad nightmare? He told me about it – you weren’t scared of him then, were you?”  
  
For a fraction of an instant, Spike’s eyes shot up to Buffy’s, panicked and pleading, before he suddenly changed his mind again and averted his gaze once more, shaking his head as he knew he was supposed to – according to the plan. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Buffy’s cautious hand beckon Xander closer – and shuddered slightly at the very thought.  
  
*Just a few minutes – it’ll be over quick – just gotta get through it – just a few minutes – over quick – oh, *please*, Buffy, don’t let him…*  
  
“Hey, Spike,” Xander repeated in a soft, coaxing voice that still sent a shiver of terror through the vampire’s body. “It’s okay – I’m not gonna hurt you, Buddy – you know that. I’m your friend – remember?”  
  
Spike did not miss the very subtle edge of warning to his voice – and this time, neither did the others, though none of them showed any sign of noticing it. As he spoke, Xander was edging steadily nearer, his hand still outstretched to touch him – and every nerve in Spike’s body was taut to its limit, every ounce of strength he had employed in simply not running – not – not yet – not until…  
  
Xander was only a couple of feet away, when Spike felt the barely there, fractional tug of Buffy’s fingers in his hair – the signal that the time was right. Just before the boy’s hand actually came into contact with his shaking shoulder, Spike scrambled backward to his feet, knocking Dawn from her knees back onto her rear in the process – and bolted up the stairs.  
  
He could hear various words and other sounds of dismay from the people in the living room as he dashed into Buffy’s bedroom and shut the door hard – knew how the scene was going to play out – what Buffy was going to say, mere moments from now.  
  
*Maybe you were right before, Xander…he has to learn that some men are safe…go ahead on up, talk to him, see if you can calm him down like you did the other night…no, really, it’s okay, I think it’ll be good for him…*  
  
Spike wasn’t really sure if he was remembering what Buffy had said she was going to tell Xander, or actually hearing the faint traces of the words as she spoke them downstairs – but it didn’t really matter.   
  
Either way, he knew that within moments, Xander was going to be at the door to Buffy’s bedroom.  
  
And then – he would be *in* Buffy’s bedroom.  
  
With Spike.  
  
*Alone*.  
  
His panicked eyes darted to the lock in the center of the doorknob, the one Dawn had pointed out to him – the tiny piece of metal that would lock him in the room – and provide his way out.  
  
*Any time you decide you don’t want to do this…*  
  
At the first soft thud on the bottom stair – a footstep that would not have been audible to human ears – Spike felt something inside him break, as the panic began to swell up inside him, overriding his every rational thought, and driving him physically to his knees in front of the door, choking back violent sobs that shook his body, gasping for breath as the room seemed to close in on him.  
  
A few more steps – and Xander would be there.  
  
*You don’t have to do this…*  
  
Spike felt his hand begin to cramp, and glanced up with half-aware surprise to see that it was clenched tightly around the doorknob – as three, four more soft footsteps were heard outside the door.  
  
Spike’s trembling fingers sought purchase on the small circular lock in the center of the doorknob, his breath coming in short, rapid, panicked gasps now, as he tried to decide what to do.  
  
*Buffy wants you to let him in – have to let him in – have to prove it was him or she’ll never really believe you – a part of her will always hate you, because she’ll never be sure…*  
  
*Oh, God, what if she can’t stop him in time? What if he gets me back again? *What if he has the gun*?*  
  
A slight, by now familiar creak on the landing as Xander finished his trek up the stairs – and Spike’s shaking hand had turned the lock, just before he collapsed into tears, his body shaking with terror, his arms wrapped around himself, his head bowed against his chest as he sobbed in helpless confusion and fear.  
  
Spike flinched violently at the soft metallic sound of the doorknob, as Xander tried to open it – and then, silence, when he found it locked.  
  
For a moment, time stood still as Spike waited…waited for him to say something, to try to convince him to open the door…to turn around and go back downstairs, to tell Buffy that he was locked out, so that Dawn could make this whole thing end…or to slam the door open with the violent force with which Spike had become so painfully familiar, to use his fists, his feet – his *gun* -- to bring the vampire back into submission to him.  
  
“Spike?”  
  
His breath caught in his throat at the sound of that deadly soft voice, and he felt his trembling increase, as he scrambled backward across the floor, until his back hit the side of Buffy’s bed.  
  
“I know you’re in there.” There was a brief pause, and Spike could hear the cruel amusement in Xander’s voice, barely over a whisper, and certainly not audible to those downstairs.  
  
“Hey – you wanna see a trick? Let’s see, let me think…how about…how fast can I kill everybody that you care about? I think I can do it in about – oh, ten seconds? Yeah, I think that’ll work. By the time you crawl out of that corner you’re hiding in and get downstairs – they’ll already all be dead – unless you get over here and open this door.”  
  
“No,” Spike was not even aware he was going to speak until he heard the whimper torn from his throat. “Please…no…”  
  
A soft, dangerous laugh on the other side of the door was his response – and after a moment, he heard the doorknob rattle slightly again as Xander tried it once more. “I haven’t got all night, Spike,” he warned him softly. “Open. The door. Or I go downstairs, and shoot them all. Dawn. Buffy. Giles. Even Anya, if you make me, Spike. And I guarantee it – they won’t recover like you did…”  
  
As the boy spoke his cruel threats softly though the door, Spike found himself creeping slowly along the floor on his knees, toward the door – compelled by the horror of what he might do to Buffy and Dawn, as well as by long-ingrained habit. As Xander finished talking for the moment, Spike found himself back at the door, struggling to stifle the gasping sobs that filled his throat – his hand resting on the doorknob.  
  
“Can you count to three, Spike?” Xander asked him in a mild, disarming voice of curiosity. “Have you learned that much yet?” He paused, before adding, “I can. And I’m going to. You know what happens when I get to three?”  
  
Spike felt the jaws of the trap that this plan had turned out to be closing around him – with no escape in sight. His hand tightened on the doorknob, as his internal war raged on, trying to determine what he would do.  
  
*If I let him in – he’s already so mad – he’s gonna kill me – he’s gonna hurt me…no, no…*no*…!*  
  
“One…”  
  
Spike’s heart leapt up into his throat, and he flinched, as a fresh wave of terror gripped him at the thought of his little surrogate family downstairs.  
  
*Buffy – Dawn – can’t let him hurt them…can’t…*  
  
“Two…”  
  
*Oh God, he’s gonna kill me! No, can’t do it! Can’t make myself – let him in…no…*  
  
He leaned heavily against the door, his head bowed against the smooth wood surface, tears of desperation and despair streaking his face as his shoulders shook with sobs.  
  
*Can’t let him hurt them – if he kills me – can’t let him hurt them…*  
  
“Thr…”  
  
“Wait! Please, wait!” Spike gasped out, his fingers scrabbling on the doorknob as he fumbled for the lock – and finally found it.  
  
“That’s a boy,” Xander encouraged him in a soft, approving voice that Spike knew could turn deadly and cruel in an instant – obviously pleased with the sound of the vampire’s attempts to open the door and obey his command. “I knew you wouldn’t let them down, Spike…”  
  
The click of the lock sounded impossibly loud in the stillness of the room – stillness and safety that was about to be shattered – a moment before Xander’s hand gripped the knob, and pushed the door slowly open.  
  
And Spike was once more on his knees before his abuser.  
  
Xander smirked at him as he stepped into the room, closing the door firmly behind him. His hand hovered on the knob for a moment, glancing thoughtfully between Spike’s face, and the lock behind him.  
  
“You know – that’s actually not a bad idea, Spike,” he spoke in a quietly mocking voice – as he turned the circle in the center of the knob – locking them in together. “Now,” he smirked as he turned toward the trembling, retreating vampire, staring up at him through wide, terrified eyes as he struggled on his knees to back away from the advancing young man.  
  
“Where were we?”


	44. Chapter 44

“Can you hear him up there?”

 

Dawn’s voice was barely over a whisper, as she asked her terse question of the vampire who had just come into the room from the kitchen, the moment that Xander had disappeared up the stairs.

 

The one thing they had all managed to agree on was that it would be to their advantage if Xander did not know that Angel was in the house. It was fairly certain that after Angel’s threats, and aware that the older vampire possessed senses that the humans did not, Xander would be too cautious to try anything at all if he knew that Angel was around.

 

So Angel had stayed out of sight in the kitchen until Xander had gone upstairs – but not a moment longer.

 

“Of course I can,” he replied, a bit more sharply than he meant to. “Shhh.”

 

A moment or two of tense silence was all that Dawn could stand before she broke the silence again with a loud whisper, “Well, what’s he saying?”

 

“Quiet,” Angel barked, his dark eyes focused intently up the stairs, though he could not see anything from where he stood next to the couch.

 

No one was seated on it anymore.

 

As Buffy and Dawn both stared anxiously at the vampire, his chocolate brown eyes glowed golden with rage, and a low growl rose in his throat at something that he had just heard.

 

“What?” Buffy demanded with alarm in her voice. “What did he say?”

 

Angel turned his furious gaze on her for a moment, piercing and accusing. “You don’t want to know,” he told her.

 

“Yes, I do!” Buffy snapped incredulously. “Tell me!”

 

Angel shrugged. “You’ll probably want him to demonstrate what he just said to Spike before you’ll actually believe it anyway – and by then you’d all be dead.”

 

Buffy’s eyes widened with shock, as they all fell silent, taking in the deadly implications of his words. Suddenly, Angel jerked slightly forward toward the stairs, his eye widening as he barely managed to keep himself from taking off up those stairs, and to his childe’s rescue.

 

“He’s in,” he told Buffy, his voice low and grim. “And the door’s closed.”

 

“Okay,” the Slayer drew in a deep, shaky breath, moving toward the stairs herself. “We’re on, Anya – let’s get up there.”

 

***********************************

 

“See – I’ve got a real problem with what I’m seeing here, Spike.”

 

Xander spoke in a soft, casual yet menacing voice, as he slowly advanced on the terrified vampire, who was desperately scrambling backward across the floor in an attempt to put as much distance as he could between himself and the boy.

 

“After all the times I’ve told you – all the time I’ve spent trying to get it through your stupid head…”

 

Spike’s back hit the bed, and he realized with a rising sense of panic that he had nowhere left to go, as Xander closed the gap between them, and reached down to jerk him to his feet by the collar of his shirt.

 

A nasty smirk came across the boy’s face as he finished, “…you still think you have half a chance of getting away from me! Well, guess what, Spikey?”

 

Releasing one side of Spike’s shirt, Xander drew back a surprisingly powerful fist and slammed it without warning into the smaller vampire’s face. Spike let out a startled cry of pain, his hand rising to his swiftly bruising cheek – before he suddenly raised wide eyes full of shocked understanding to meet the hatefully satisfied gaze of his attacker.

 

“That’s right,” Xander sneered softly. “I think you’re beginning to get it, aren’t you? Wow, you really must be getting a lot smarter, huh?”

 

He paused, leaning in closer to Spike’s face, chuckling softly as the backs of his knees hit the bed and he lost his balance with a soft gasp of fear. Before Spike could fall backward onto the bed, one of Xander’s hands darted out behind Spike’s head to grasp his hair in a cruel, painful fist, while his other hand locked around the vampire’s throat in a suffocating -- *silencing* -- grip.

 

“And this time,” Xander continued in a deadly soft whisper that was in sharp contrast to the violence of his actions. “I’m not taking any chances. You won’t be around to run your mouth to Buffy – not when I get through with you.”

 

*********************************

 

“It’s locked!”

 

Anya’s stage whisper was full of dismay as she turned fearful eyes on the Slayer just behind her. For now, Buffy and Anya were the only two who had ventured up the stairs – though it had taken a very vigorous argument to convince Angel and Dawn to wait downstairs for their signal.

 

Buffy’s heart lurched at the implication of the vengeance demon’s words, though she could hear nothing, no sounds of violence or trouble, from the other side of the bedroom door. “It’s okay,” she reassured Anya quickly, though her own whisper was shaky and a bit uncertain. “We figured as much, remember? We expected him to lock them in…”

 

“You -- *what*?”

 

Dawn’s unexpected voice from just behind them on the stairs was full of incredulous fury.

 

“Dawn – get back downstairs,” Buffy ordered tersely, her expression taut, and betraying more of her fear and guilt than she would have liked, as she turned in surprise toward her little sister. “I told you to wait…”

 

“How could you do this to him, Buffy? How could you do this to him when you *know* how scared he is of Xander, and now Xander’s in there, just…”

 

“I hate to interrupt the stereotypical family squabble,” Anya broke in – then frowned, as she shook her head and corrected, “Actually – no. I have no problem interrupting, because it’s very annoying the way you two are constantly at each other’s throats. I mean, I never had a sister when I was human, so I don’t really know, but even if this sort of ridiculous behavior is normal – it’s very stupid and petty when Spike is locked in there right now with my possibly slightly psychotic ex. Now – don’t you think it’s about time we got him out of there?”

 

Buffy blinked at her in the surprise that usually followed one of Anya’s incredibly honest outbursts – and then nodded her agreement, her jaw setting with determination. “You’re right,” she said, taking the slim, compact video camera – belonging to Giles – from her jacket pocket and handing it to Anya. “You’d better get in there.”

 

“Right,” Anya took a deep breath – and then turned back toward Buffy, suddenly nervous. “Just – pop in, pop out. Should be – perfectly safe…right?”

 

“Just don’t let him see you – and first chance you get, try to get the door unlocked.” Buffy advised. “I’ll break it down if I have to – but I’d rather *not* have to – but anyway, I don’t think he’d hurt *you*, Anya…”

 

“You might be surprised,” the vengeance demon muttered, turning back toward the door with a slight shrug as she prepared to teleport herself and the camera into the locked room.

 

************************************

 

“Now – first things first,” Xander smirked as he maneuvered his frightened captive around so that his back was against the wall between Buffy’s bed and the door, freeing the hand that had gripped his hair, but keeping his other hand locked relentlessly around Spike’s windpipe so that he could not cry out. “Let’s make sure we won’t be interrupted…”

 

Taking a tiny vial of pale pink powder from his pocket, Xander used his teeth to pull the cork out of it, and then tossed the powder in front of the door, spitting the cork out to the side before muttering a few poorly pronounced Latin words.

 

Spike’s eyes widened in surprised recognition, as he stared up at the boy in confusion. He remembered enough by now to remember magic – and to remember that as far as he knew, Xander did not know any.

 

The boy smiled at the obvious bewilderment in Spike’s face, as he answered the unspoken question. “A present from a friend,” he shrugged – and Spike immediately knew what “friend” he was talking about. “She was very concerned when I told her about the new demon loose in town – and how it doesn’t need an invite – and could she possibly suggest anything that might make a house – or a room – pretty much un-enterable? Nothing and no one goes in or out. Not voices, or other sounds…and definitely not people.” The cruel satisfaction was clear in Xander’s smug smile.

 

As it slowly dawned on Spike just exactly what Xander had done, and how – the panic that had already gained a foothold in his heart began to swell up inside him, overwhelming him as he realized that Buffy’s plan was thwarted already. If no one could get into the room – then help was not coming.

 

He was truly alone with Xander.

 

And this time – Xander meant to kill him.

 

*****************************

 

“What are you waiting for?” Buffy urged Anya in an impatient whisper. “Go on! Hurry!”

 

“I’m trying,” Anya informed her, a slight edge of irritation born of worry in her voice. “Something’s wrong – I can’t get in…”

 

“What do you mean you can’t get in?” Dawn asked, panic rising in her voice. “You have to get in! We can’t just leave him alone in there with…”

 

“Dawnie, keep your voice down!” Buffy snapped at her. “Do you want Xander to hear you, and blow the whole thing?”

 

“I don’t care about your stupid plan!” Dawn practically exploded – though she *did* keep her voice down. “You thought it was so smart to make him do this – and now he’s locked in with Xander and no one can get to him! You’re gonna get him killed, Buffy, and then how are you gonna feel?”

 

“Shut *up*!” Buffy hissed at her in a warning whisper, turning on her with blazing, furious eyes that glittered with frustrated, fearful tears.

 

“Break it down,” Dawn suggested urgently, her own eyes welling with tears. “We have to get to him, Buffy – we have to get to him before…”

 

“Nothing’s happening, Dawn,” Buffy assured her little sister – though she wished that she believed it herself. “I don’t hear any noise from in there – and I’m sure we’d hear *something* if Xander was hurting him – right?”

 

Dawn paused for a moment, breathing hard as she tried to control her raging emotions long enough to consider that point. Suddenly, she frowned, her eyes widening with a new concern. “You’re right – I don’t hear *anything*. Nothing at all. And – if they’re both in there – we should hear *something* -- right? Voices – *something*…”

 

Buffy’s face slowly formed a frown to match her sister’s, as she realized that Dawn was right.

 

Something was definitely off here…

 

“It’s a spell,” Anya announced softly, turning toward them after the last of the failed attempts she had been making to teleport into the room, throughout the Summers’ sisters’ argument. “It has to be a spell of some kind. That’s why we can’t get in at all, and we’re not hearing anything from inside. They probably can’t hear us out here, either.”

 

Buffy’s heart sank with dismay at the thought that Xander could be doing absolutely anything to Spike on the other side of that door – and she could not get to him…couldn’t even know for sure what was happening.

 

*Stupid,* she cursed herself viciously. *If he dies because of me…*

 

She couldn’t even allow herself to finish that thought – not now.

 

There was no time.

 

“Go get Giles,” she instructed Dawn firmly. “We need to find a way to break the spell – and fast!”

 

For once, Dawn did not argue, seeing immediately that the magic-experienced Watcher might be their best hope of helping Spike at this point – and she rushed down the stairs to obey her sister’s order.

 

***********************************

 

Once the room had been magically secured, Xander no longer felt the need to restrain his victim, from resisting, or from calling for help, if he should choose to do so.

 

It wasn’t as if anyone could hear him, anyway.

 

And besides – Spike was far too well conditioned to dare such a thing in Xander’s presence.

 

It had been a simple matter, getting a few easy spells from Willow – a matter of a single expensive but worthwhile overseas phone call, in which he had spun a very believable tale for his friend, of the new danger that Buffy was dealing with here in Sunnydale, and what he needed in order to help her defeat it.

 

Willow had immediately offered to come home and help, concerned that Giles had returned only a few days earlier, and was apparently unable to do anything about the situation. Xander had assured her that it would not be necessary; it was far too soon for her to be attempting spells on her own just yet. If she would just tell him what to do – he would be able to handle it himself.

 

And of course, she had accepted his words.

 

After all – if not for him, she and the rest of the world would all be dead, anyway.

 

Surely, she had obviously believed, Xander’s heart was much less likely to be corrupted by the power of the magic than hers was.

 

So now, Xander had in his hands a few neat magical tricks, which would allow him to complete his revenge against the vampire that had taken from him everything he had ever valued – and to get away with it, as well.

 

In fact, with the door effectively barred, and no one able to hear what went on inside – he could even take his time about it…make the vampire pay for the past few days of intense stress, the terrible fear that had kept him awake the past few nights, sick at the thought of being found out, whenever Spike inevitably recovered enough to remember and tell Buffy what had happened to him – and who had done it.

 

Well, after tonight, that would not be an issue anymore.

 

He would tell Buffy that Spike had lost it – completely freaked out – and had locked them into the room, intent on killing the boy that he *falsely* viewed as a threat to him. It had taken a while, he would inform her, putting just the right parts of weary, thwarted accomplishment and compassion into his voice – but he had thought that he was getting through to the poor, panicked, confused creature.

 

And then – just when he thought that it was under control – Spike had attacked him, going for his throat.

 

*I forgot about the chip,* he pictured himself crying for Buffy’s benefit, feigning sorrow and regret. *I just – reacted. I staked him before I could even think – I thought he was going to kill me…*

 

And of course – Buffy would buy it.

 

The fact that he was up here, alone with Spike right now, was proof enough that she would buy it.

 

And Spike would be gone – and Xander’s life could finally get back to the way that it should be – back to normal.

 

But first, he thought with a cruel smile – he had plenty of time to play.


	45. Chapter 45

Weary and frustrated – and fighting back the rising panic that was steadily building inside her – Buffy made her way down the stairs toward the kitchen, and the not-so-unusual herb that she just knew her mother used to keep in the cupboard, though she had never known her to have actually used it. But, Giles had said that he needed it for the counter-spell he was attempting to perform – and it was *something* that she could do to help.

 

Dawn and Anya were both upstairs on the landing with Giles, Anya continually attempting to teleport herself into the bedroom – just in case she might be wrong about the spell – and Dawn watching anxiously, desperate to get to her friend.

 

Angel was just starting up the stairs as Buffy had come down them; but when he had seen her pass him without a word, intent on her goal, he had suddenly changed his mind, stalking after her back down the stairs and toward the kitchen.

 

“Buffy…”

 

She closed her eyes momentarily, her jaw setting with frustration, and – some other nameless emotion that she did not want to try to hard to place – as she walked on. She just knew that whatever it was, it made her afraid to face Angel in this moment, afraid to have him see in her eyes the enormity of her mistake – and what it might end up costing Spike.

 

“Buffy!”

 

She ignored the vampire, heading resolutely toward the kitchen, intent on her goal – and on avoiding him.

 

A foot from the doorway, Angel caught the Slayer’s arm, spinning her around – and she was stunned to see him in full game face, his golden eyes gleaming at her over a snarl of fury.

 

“Buffy, what the *hell* is going on up there?” he demanded.

 

Suddenly, Buffy found herself frozen, wide-eyed, unable to look away from the piercing, warning glare of the vampire before her, still gripping her arm firmly. In that gaze, she saw no understanding, no mercy for the failure that she had made of things – and it made her want to cry…because she knew that she deserved none.

 

*If he dies…if Spike dies because of me…*

 

*Shut up!* she ordered herself fiercely. *Just shut up! Don’t even think…*

 

“*Buffy*!” Angel shook her slightly as he growled her name again in warning. “Tell me!”

 

“X-xander did – a spell – I think it’s a spell, anyway…we can’t get in…”

 

“I know that much from Dawn,” Angel reminded her, his voice taut with impatience. “Buffy, how could you let this happen? What are you doing to get to him? We have to get to him, *now*, Buffy…”

 

“I *know* that!” Buffy snapped back in a voice that trembled with fear and confusion, her eyes shining with unshed tears as she glared back at him. “Giles is working on it. He knows even more magic than Willow did, and that’s saying a lot. If anybody can break whatever spell Xander put on the room, he can…”

 

“He better be able to,” Angel cut her off, a threat in his voice that he was not even attempting to veil, “because if anything happens to Spike because of this *stupid* plan of yours, Buffy…” He shook her again as he spoke – and she did not resist, did not pull away from him in the indignation she usually would have felt at being so manhandled. “…somebody’s going to have to answer for it.”

 

“I didn’t mean for this to…”

 

Buffy’s weak, shaky voice, speaking words that were even to her own ears, a useless excuse, was cut off by Angel’s low, intent voice, tinged with anger and disgust.

 

“He *trusted* you, Buffy. He was relying on you to protect him – so that that *monster* upstairs that you call a friend couldn’t get his hands on him again!”

 

“I’m sorry…”

 

Angel released her with a little shove that rocked her back a step or two, looking away from her in something that felt painfully like revulsion to her, as he shook his head in dismissal.

 

“Useless words,” he informed her, raising his once-again dark eyes to hers in a solemn, unrelenting gaze. “If you’re really sorry – then *do* something.”

 

“I – I’m trying,” Buffy stammered weakly, her eyes wide and downcast as she struggled vainly to hold back her tears, gesturing awkwardly toward the kitchen. “Giles needs – s-something – an herb…”

 

“Then get it,” Angel snapped, turning his back on her and making his way up the stairs.

 

And the Slayer had nothing else to do but to continue on into the kitchen – and attempt to read the writing on the various herbs in the cupboard, through a stubbornly flowing veil of her own tears.

 

************************************

 

“Stand up.”

 

The hard command drifted into Spike’s mind through a haze of pain and disorientation brought on by too many blows to his head – and his chest – and his stomach…

 

Well…pretty much anywhere Xander could reach.

 

And when the boy could no longer reach him with his fists, he had resorted to kicking him, until the frightened, brutalized vampire lay before him on the floor against the wall, curled in on himself in a futile attempt to shield his midsection from the continuing volley of savage blows.

 

“Did you hear me, you little piece of crap?” Xander snarled, moving in close and grabbing Spike’s hair – which seemed to be one of his favorite things to do. “I said *get up*!”

 

*And why not?* Spike thought with a wince at the vicious tug on his barely healed head wound. *’S bloody painful… ‘course he likes it…*

 

As he spoke, Xander jerked Spike up, though he could only get him as far up as his knees, for the weakness that made Spike’s head swim and his body refuse to respond to the conditioned impulse to *get up* -- to obey – to do whatever was in his power to appease his captor.

 

His face twisting into a hideous mask of vindictive anger, Xander’s eyes narrowed as he jerked Spike’s head back hard in a primal gesture of dominance – exposing the vampire’s throat, as he reached into his pocket and took out an object that was terribly familiar to Spike. Though he had only seen it once since regaining his sight, his memories, Spike knew that this was the weapon with which Xander had laid waste to his existence.

 

The gun.

 

As he felt the cold steel pressed hard against his temple, Spike felt an even colder sense of terror creeping through him, and he froze, his eyes closed against the sight of that menacing smile, shaking his head slightly in denial of what was happening.

 

“Maybe I won’t kill you, Spike,” Xander mused softly, his face inches from Spike’s ear. “Not yet, anyway. Maybe I’ll just start over – from scratch, you know? Blow your freakin’ brains out again, and see if you heal up as well this time – you know, without all the coddling Buffy’s been giving you this past week or so? What do you think, Spikey? Should I turn you into a little retard again?”

 

Xander paused, releasing Spike’s hair, reaching under his jacket as the trembling vampire fell back against the wall, but was still unable to escape the pressure of the weapon at his head. Spike choked back a startled cry of fear as Xander held the stake he had just pulled out against his chest, and finished his question with soft, cold amusement.

 

“Or should I just stake you? Which would you prefer, Fangless?”

 

It was a cruel, impossible demand – to force him to choose his own fate – but Spike knew beyond all doubt which was the worse option.

 

He knew that he could not bear to ever go back to the darkness, the cold nothingness of his time in that cave – the nothingness that had eventually given way to more terror and suffering than he had previously thought imaginable.

 

“Kill me.”

 

His voice was a bare whisper, hardly audible at all, and Xander leaned in even closer to hear him. “What was that?” he taunted in a whisper. “Couldn’t hear ya, Spikey…*what* do you want me to do?”

 

“Just – just kill me,” Spike gasped out, his head turned away from the smirking boy, as he struggled to get the words out, and to control the violent shaking that had overwhelmed his body with the dual threat of the stake and the gun. His voice softened slightly, breaking with tears over the words as he added a desperate plea, “D-don’t – please don’t – not that, please…”

 

He could not even speak aloud what it was that he was so afraid of – but Xander knew.

 

His cold smile widened slowly, as he waited until Spike looked uncertainly up at him – and then slowly, deliberately, replaced the stake under his jacket.

 

“Thanks for the suggestion,” he sneered quietly. “But I think I’ll go with my original plan. I think it sounds like a lot more – fun.”

 

********************************

 

“Try it again, Anya…I think I may have done it this time,” Giles instructed in a voice of quiet intensity, his eyes focused in an anxious question on the vengeance demon standing in front of the door.

 

Anya did as he told her, focusing all of her energy – and still came up unsuccessful.

 

Giles sighed in frustration, glancing solemnly around at Dawn, Angel, and Buffy, who were all watching him in worried anticipation – Dawn and Angel from right behind him on the landing, while the Slayer hung back, about halfway down the stairs…not feeling particularly welcome at the moment.

 

“There’s one more thing I can try,” the Watcher spoke in a quiet, serious voice. “It’s a slight alteration on this spell – one that might require a bit less damage to the original spell that Xander cast, and therefore might be a bit more successful. The only drawback is – it would allow Anya’s magic – anyone’s magic, really – to override the spell – but the room would still be impenetrable by physical means – and I don’t believe that we’ll be able to hear what’s happening inside.”

 

“What good will that do?” Angel frowned, his voice tense and impatient. “At this point we’re beyond getting ‘evidence’.” He spoke the word in a tone of derision that showed just what he thought of the original plan. “If Xander put a spell on the room to keep us out – he’s hurting Spike. There’s no doubt in my mind. We need to find a way to get him out of there…”

 

“Hey,” Anya shrugged with a little reluctant grimace, as she realized just what it was that Giles was suggesting – and then realized that she was actually willing to go along with it. “Vengeance demon here. I think I can handle one measly human male on my own.”

 

“One measly human male – who happens to be your ex-fiance?” Dawn hesitantly questioned, her eyes apologetic for even bringing up the point, though it *was* a valid one.

 

Anya shrugged again, her expression carefully blank as she replied, “That’s mattering to me less and less all the time.”

 

“One measly human male – who has at least one magic trick up his sleeve.” Giles spoke this time, and there was no question in his words – only a stern warning. “You must be very careful, Anya. You have no magic powers beyond the wish of the wronged – you will only have your physical strength to rely on…”

 

“Why doesn’t someone make a wish then?” Dawn suggested, her eyes suddenly wide and eager as she looked between the Watcher and the vengeance demon. “On Spike’s behalf?” her gaze became uncertain as she saw Anya’s slight shake of her head, and added haltingly, “Can we – do that? Or – does it have to be Spike?”

 

“It has to be Spike,” Anya answered glumly. “Otherwise this would all be a lot easier.” She frowned in annoyance. “Xander *would* have to pick the very first day that Spike is actually coherent enough to *make* a vengeance wish, to do this, wouldn’t he?”

 

“It wasn’t Xander’s idea,” Angel’s dark voice reminded them all – and Buffy flinched, though no one was looking at her to see it, all of their eyes carefully averted, unsure how to respond to that.

 

“I can handle it,” Anya repeated, to draw the attention back to the matter at hand – though more for Spike’s sake than for Buffy’s. “If I can get in one good blow or two – I can knock him out cold, unlock the door, and get me and Spike out of there…”

 

Giles’ expression was uncertain and concerned as he stared at the woman he had only just discovered his feelings for – but he knew that she was possibly Spike’s only hope. And no matter how bad things had gotten between them at one point – no matter how far the boy appeared to have slipped – Giles still could not imagine Xander intentionally doing  
Anya any *serious* harm.

 

“All right,” he agreed finally. “A few more moments, while I perform the altered spell…and then you’ll be able to get in…”

 

*********************************

 

Xander was frustrated.

 

Somehow, this just was not as satisfying as it had once been.

 

He wished that he really had time to take Spike somewhere else, to once again reduce him to the nearly brain dead state he had sent him to before, and start fresh, as he had made the vampire believe was his plan – but he could not think of a way that he could get away with it.

 

He had only used that as a means to further terrify his victim – to bring Spike back under his control – but he knew that the only way he could get out of this with any sort of convincing story to tell his friend the Slayer, was with his stake.

 

Still – he could get away with taking a few more minutes to toy with the trembling, terrified creature.

 

But – something was off.

 

Oh, Spike was down on his knees, against the wall, shaking and holding up his hands in a pleading gesture – too afraid to dare to talk without Xander’s permission. The boy could clearly see the panic in those wide, crystal blue eyes, when he yanked the vampire’s head back by the hair and forced him to look at him – knew that he was still the single most terrifying force in Spike’s existence.

 

But still – something was off.

 

The blank, lost desperation – the utter panic of simply not knowing *anything*, beyond the one who held the power of life and death over him – had vanished from Spike’s eyes. Even as he automatically assumed a position of submission, of supplication, on his knees before Xander as he had been commanded – the boy could see the racing thoughts behind those blue eyes – knew that the vampire was desperately searching his mind for some way of escape.

 

A week ago – he would have known beyond all doubt that no escape was possible.

 

Xander frowned in frustrated anger, his face twisting into a sneer, as he determined to spend the next few minutes reminding Spike of just who was in control – just how helpless he still was, despite his regained memories of a time when he was *not* so helpless and broken.

 

Those memories meant nothing.

 

Nothing had changed.

 

And Xander was going to prove that beyond all doubt – before he plunged his stake through Spike’s unbeating heart and forever ended the existence of the creature that had plagued him for five long years.

 

And as he stepped forward once again, his fist drawn back for a punishing blow, even as he ordered Spike to look up at him again – Xander failed to see the silent appearance of the vengeance demon at his back, several yards behind him.

 

In a split second of recognition, Spike *did* see her – before his head was slammed back against the wall by the force of Xander’s blow, with an audible, dizzying crack.

 

But in that instant, the pain did not matter to the vampire.

 

Anya was in the room – which meant that the spell had been broken.

 

Which meant that help had arrived.


	46. Chapter 46

Spike’s head was reeling from the breathtakingly sharp blow Xander had just dealt him – and racing from the sight of the vengeance demon across the room, which he had noticed in the bare instant before Xander had last hit him.

 

He kept his eyes closed, his head turned to the side, even after he had recovered from the blow – afraid that some instantaneous glance on his own part, more instinctive than careless, might give Anya’s presence away if he dared to look up. His breath was coming quick and shallow, as he fought back the rising sense of sick fear in the pit of his stomach – a different fear than the usual, ordinary fear that Xander usually inspired in him…

 

…a fear that this was his very last chance at rescue, and somehow, no matter how hard he tried not to – he was going to blow it.

 

*Stupid,* Xander’s words echoed in his mind. *So stupid – can’t do anything right…*

 

Had Spike had a bit more of his old perception and knowledge back, he might have realized that the insult was a word-for-word echo of the ones Xander had heard from his own father all his life.

 

Not that it would have made any difference to him, all things considered.

 

*Kill him, Anya,* he thought with a desperation and an intensity of hatred that surprised even him, though he still did not dare to look up. *Please – kill him…kill him now!*

 

“What’s the matter, Spikey?” Xander taunted him as he crouched down beside him, getting right up into his face as he grabbed his hair and slammed his head into the wall again. “You look a little scared.”

 

As the colored haze slowly cleared from in front of his eyes, Spike finally ventured a look up into his tormentor’s dark eyes – ever aware with his periphery vision of the girl who was slowly slipping up behind him. Her fists were clenched at her sides, ready to deliver a powerful blow as soon as she was close enough, but she did not seem to have any other weapon.

 

Perhaps she would not need one.

 

But – Xander had the gun.

 

A gun would not kill a vengeance demon, Spike *did* remember that – but it would certainly stop her long enough to prevent her from doing any damage to Xander. And if that happened, Spike knew that there would be little hope of help for either of them.

 

His wide blue eyes focused fully on Xander’s glittering, maliciously gleeful gaze – and he gasped out in a weak, raspy whisper, “Do it – just do it…”

 

Xander drew back slightly for an instant, his eyebrows raised appraisingly as he looked down at his victim thoughtfully for a moment – unaware that Spike had not really been talking to him at all.

 

And in the next moment, Spike’s skull exploded with devastating, deafening pain, as Xander brought the pistol down sharply against his temple, before moving in close again to snarl close to his face, “*Don’t* talk – how many times do I have to tell you, you little idiot?”

 

Jerking his head up again, he demanded in a mocking tone, “You want me to, Spike? Is that what you want me to do? Or are you forgetting – this thing won’t kill you, Spikey! You *want* me to shoot you in the head again?”

 

Dizzy from the blow, Spike’s head lolled back slightly against the wall, his eyes closed as he mumbled the words out in a soft moan of pain and urgency. “K-kill…please…please kill…”

 

Again, misunderstanding, as his ex-fiancee crept ever nearer to him, Xander laughed harshly. “No – not yet, Spike. You don’t deserve that kind of leniency – not after everything you’ve done. I’ve got a lot of stuff I want to do to you yet, before I kill you!”

 

“Do it,” Spike whispered, his voice stronger, though still a bit slurred, as he pulled himself back up to a sitting position, his head leaned against the wall as he forced his eyes open just slightly, glancing vaguely past Xander. “Please -- *do it*!”

 

Anya was only a few feet behind the boy now – and Spike could smell the salt of her silent tears, even if he could not see them – knew instinctively that this was very hard for her, seeing for herself the truth of how far Xander had fallen, how deep into his hatred and depravity he had allowed himself to descend.

 

Relief flooded through Spike’s heart as out of the corner of his eye, he watched her raise her fist to strike.

 

Xander slowly stood up straight, giving the girl behind him pause, as she moved slightly back, not wanting to alert him to her presence too soon.

 

*Why is she hesitating?* Spike wondered with anguished frustration. *Just do it – just hit him – please – please…*

 

In his heart, he knew that this had to be terribly hard for her, no matter what had gone on between them – because Anya had loved Xander, with everything she had. And Spike knew better than anyone – that sort of love didn’t go away so easily, no matter how badly the object of that love treated you.

 

“Can you tell me what’s wrong with this picture, Spike?”

 

Xander’s cold, soft voice sent a chill of dread down his spine – and Anya froze, her eyes going wide behind him, as both she and Spike were suddenly sure that he must know she was there – must have been simply feigning ignorance.

 

“No, of course you can’t, stupid,” Xander shook his head in false pity – before drawing back a heavy foot and launching it viciously into Spike’s unprotected stomach. “I told you,” he reminded him as he prepared for a second kick, “to *shut up*!”

 

The second blow never landed.

 

Before Xander could connect with Spike’s battered torso, Anya’s fist had collided with his skull with an audible crack, as the boy crumpled backward to the floor, a couple of yards away from the vampire huddled on the floor. Clambering over him as she struggled not to collapse herself from the sheer power of her emotions, Anya crouched down in front of Spike – who had broken down into shattered sobs of mingled relief and anguish.

 

“It’s gonna be okay,” Anya assured him, though her voice quavered with her own tears, streaking down her face. “Spike, it’s okay – he’s out – we’re gonna be okay…”

 

As the vengeance demon put her arms around him to help him up, she was taken off guard to find his arms suddenly wrapped around her, his grip shaky yet strong, as he rested his head on her shoulder. Deep, wrenching sobs still shook him as he clung to her, too relieved and grateful and just simply overwhelmed to even begin to get up just yet.

 

Anya froze again, surprised at the soft, warm, teary feeling building up in her chest at the sound of his sobs, and his tentative, pleading embrace – surprised that Spike’s pain mattered so very much to her at all.

 

After all, she reasoned – she had her own pain to deal with at the moment. She remembered the early days of her humanity, when such concepts as sympathy and compassion still seemed so foreign to her, and thought how annoyed she would have been then by Spike’s unthinking interruption of her attempts to dwell on her *own* hurt.

 

So why was it that now, when she was a vengeance demon again, and supposedly unfettered by “human” emotions – she found her heart breaking more for Spike than for herself?

 

*Huh. Go figure.*

 

She shrugged the question off, and just held him closer for a few moments.

 

“Shh,” she soothed him gently. “It’s gonna be all right…he’s unconscious – he can’t hurt you now…”

 

“G-gotta…” Spike gasped out without raising his head. “Gotta – get out…”

 

Anya frowned, her attention drawn back to their predicament by his words. The door was still magically locked, by whatever spell Xander had performed. She could easily teleport herself back out, but she had a feeling that it would be a while before Giles managed to break the spell thoroughly enough to allow them both to leave the room.

 

She sighed as Spike raised his head from her shoulder, and she glanced dubiously toward the door – and she felt the vampire go rigid under her arms still wrapped around him, in the moment before she saw what he had already become aware of.

 

Behind them, Xander had risen to his feet again – apparently not so very unconscious as she had thought – and the gun was held tightly in his shaking hand, aimed in the general direction of her and Spike.

 

“Damn,” she muttered with a sigh. “I didn’t *think* I pulled that punch.”

 

Xander’s smile was ironic, bittersweet, as he shrugged and remarked, “I’ve seen you hit a lot harder. Guess you must still feel something after all, huh, Sweetie?”

 

Anya did not respond at all, her expression solemn as she glanced between his face and the gun, her body taut with apprehension as she wondered what he planned to do – and if she could somehow find a way to stop it.

 

“Of course – whatever I once felt for you, Anya – it’s long gone now. I thought watching you two together – seeing you *touching* that – that…” Xander’s voice trailed off in disgust as he shook his head, looking away from the two of them as Anya instinctively pulled back from Spike, shaking her own head in denial of what he was insinuating.

 

“Anyway,” Xander went on before she could speak, meeting her gaze again. “It’s still every bit as disgusting as it was the first time I saw it.”

 

“Xander – that’s *not* what this…”

 

“Shut up, Ahn.”

 

Anya was quiet for a moment – before a slow frown of gradually smoldering anger and indignation began to come over her face. Releasing Spike completely, she rose to her feet, facing her ex-fiancee with her arms crossed defiantly over her chest – and placing herself discreetly, but completely, in the path of the pistol, blocking any shot Xander might attempt to take at Spike.

 

“No, Xander Harris,” she said in a voice of soft but firm conviction. “You are not my fiancée anymore. You don’t have the right to tell me to shut up.” She paused, shaking her head at the wrongness of that statement, as she amended, “You *didn’t* have the right, then, either. And you’re not going to stand there and point a *gun* at me and think I’m going to just sit there and take it. I don’t think so, Xander…”

 

“My God, Anya, will you just *shut up*?” Xander snarled, suddenly taking full aim on her, his face contorted with anger and frustration. “Do you have any *idea* how *infuriating* you can be? Damn it, Anya, sometimes you just make me wanna…” His voice trailed off, as he shook his head again.

 

But Anya was not ready to let it go.

 

Her eyes narrowed in anger as she took a step toward him and demanded, “Sometimes you wanna what, Xander? Hit me? *Kill* me?”

 

She glanced down at the gun in his hand with more disgust than fear, as she said, “Go ahead, then. Do it.”

 

“Anya…” Xander’s tone was warning, but shaking slightly, as he glanced wildly around the room, his eyes darting to the door momentarily – his mind obviously racing as he tried to come up with some way of getting out of this, now that his cover was quite obviously blown.

 

At least – to anyone inside this room. Was there a chance that he might still convince those outside the room?

 

His ex-fiancee took another cautious step toward him.

 

Anya shook her head slowly, meeting his eyes with a bold fire in her own. “I don’t think you really want to do that, Xander. I just think you can’t handle things being outside your control.” She paused, frowning, before she amended, “No, not so much your control, as your – your petty little world view. You just can’t handle the thought that something’s not quite the way you always believed it was…”

 

“Anya, I’m warning you, if you don’t shut the hell up and let me think…”

 

“Well, let me tell you something, Xander Harris!” she overrode him without hesitation, stepping closer to him, her voice rising as she went along. “Not all demons are as evil as some *humans* are – and Buffy Summers makes mistakes, she’s not the be-all and end-all of everything – and I *don’t* have to sit down and keep my mouth shut and do and say everything just the way you think I should in order to be the perfect girlfriend or wife or *human* that you think I should be!”

 

“*Shut up*!” Xander roared at her in fury, his firing arm straightening in thoughtless preparation.

 

Anya’s eyes widened in shock, as she saw the crazed expression in his dark eyes, and knew in an instant that he actually was going to pull the trigger.

 

Spike had already seen it.

 

Even as the final furious words were leaving Xander’s lips, Spike had leapt to his feet from where he crouched behind the vengeance demon, listening to the conversation, and lunged toward the boy. Without thought for his own safety, he threw himself at the boy, knocking him off balance, just as he pulled the trigger.

 

Xander’s gun arm lowered as he was knocked forcefully to the ground, changing the trajectory of the bullet from what would have been a straight path through Anya’s skull – to instead send the shell tearing through the right side of her stomach. The vengeance demon dropped to the floor with a hoarse moan of pain, her hands clutching at her stomach as blood pulsed from the wound.

 

Spike was still trying desperately to get his hands on the gun.

 

He had just reacted, in an attempt to save Anya – but now that he had started, he knew that his only hope was to get the weapon away from the boy, and he desperately fought to take it from him.

 

His face twisted into a hideous mask of rage and hatred, Xander’s jaw set against the pain of the fall, as Spike lunged toward his outstretched right arm, trying to get the gun. He buried his left hand in the vampire’s disheveled blonde hair, twisting viciously and eliciting an agonized cry at the pain of the cruel pulling at the wound that Xander had deliberately damaged and worried at every chance he had gotten to do so.

 

It was possibly the weakest spot Spike had – and Xander’s best chance at overcoming the vampire.

 

As Spike let out an animalistic cry of pain, Xander responded by twisting harder, holding him back tightly as he brought the gun down across his face – once, twice, three times – and then released his grip, allowing Spike to fall to the floor on his hands and knees, moaning with the pain…but already trying to get up again.

 

Enraged by the turn of events things had taken, Xander spared no strength as he kicked Spike again, several times – until he had stopped trying to get up, holding up a single hand in what was either a defensive or a plea for mercy.

 

Xander was not feeling particularly merciful at the moment.

 

He yanked the dizzied vampire to his feet, again by his hair, and shook him viciously, holding the gun in his face. Spike let out a strangled whimper of pain and fear, his trembling hands raised in front of him in a gesture of surrender.

 

“You *ever* try to hit me again,” Xander snarled. “And you’re gonna…” He paused, giving Spike a careless shrug and a mean-spirited smile. “Heck, what am I saying? You’re gonna pay for *this*!”

 

Xander put the gun away in his jacket, satisfied that Spike was too badly shaken to do anything more at the moment, and took out instead a second vial of powder, this one blue. He started to open it – and then stopped, as his gaze fell on his fallen ex, lying on the ground, struggling with one weakened arm to raise herself up, while the other hand still clutched at the spot on her stomach that was still gushing blood.

 

As he watched, she collapsed again, gasping for breath, unable to rise.

 

A slow, troubled frown came over the young man’s face, and he glanced toward the door.

 

With a sigh, he took out a third vial, this one matching the first he had used, and repeating the incantation he had used before, threw it across the room where it shattered against the door, the contents of the tiny bottle mingling with the contents of the first.

 

Spike barely had time to realize through his pain and confusion that Xander had just broken his own spell, when the boy was pouring the blue sand in a hasty circle around them both, as he muttered some almost unintelligible Latin words.

 

Anya watched helplessly – as both of them disappeared before her eyes.

 

************************************

 

Hearing the crash of the bottle against the door as the spell was broken, Angel nearly knocked the Watcher to the floor in his rush to get to his childe – who had somehow vanished from the room.

 

Anya, however, was still there.

 

“Anya!” Buffy’s voice was full of concern as she rushed in behind Angel, crouching beside the girl and glancing with horror between her face, and the bleeding wound in her side. “Anya, what…oh my God…we have to get her to a…I mean…” Her voice trailed off as she remembered that Anya was not exactly human.

 

Giles was at Anya’s other side already, before anyone had even seen him move, the moment he had heard Buffy speak her name.

 

“It’s all right,” he said in a voice that had an air of authority, despite its taut and trembling sound. “I can help her. Let’s just – give her some room…”

 

“Spike,” Buffy whispered suddenly, her eyes meeting Anya’s hazy ones urgently. “Anya, what – what happened to Spike?”

 

“X-xander – took him,” she slurred out weakly. “Magic…”

 

Angel swore violently, his fist hitting nothing as he swung it out in a violent reaction of frustration. “We have to find him! Where did he take him?”

 

“D-don’t know,” Anya whispered, her voice growing weaker with the exertion – but Buffy noticed suddenly that there was an odd little smile growing on her face.

 

“What? Why are you smiling?” she demanded, a wild hope rising up in her. Surely Anya would not be smiling without a reason – unless she was…

 

“Delirious,” Giles explained softly. “Don’t mind her…”

 

“No, I’m not, R-ruper…Giles,” Anya slurred, though her voice still held an element of stubborn defiance. “Not d-deleerus…just…might not need to s-save him…”

 

“What are you talking about?” Dawn demanded, her voice high and shrill. “Of course we need to save him…”

 

“Chip’s not working…”

 

Everyone fell silent at that, stunned to varying degrees by that announcement.

 

For his part, Giles had somewhat suspected as much. Following Anya’s train of thought, he smiled grimly, “He could quite possibly save himself,” he remarked.

 

Buffy was silent for a long moment, considering. “Yeah,” she said softly at last, her green eyes wide and serious as she looked up at her Watcher. “But does he *know* that?”


	47. Chapter 47

“What are you talking about? He wanted those things so he could *help* you, with that new demon you’ve been dealing with! Xander would never do anything to hurt you, or anybody! Especially Anya…”

 

“He did.” The Slayer’s answer was simple, and deadly serious. “I’m telling you, he did.”

 

“Buffy, are you out of your mind? You’re talking about *Xander* here!”

 

“Will, just stop and listen to me for a second!” Buffy snapped, her voice trembling with impatient anger when her friend simply refused to listen to her explanation for longer than two seconds without objecting, apparently incapable of conceiving of the idea that Xander had lied to her.

 

But at her outburst, Willow *did* fall silent on the other line – and Buffy took a deep breath before continuing.

 

As she readied herself to go on, her eyes fell on the doorway beside the kitchen wall phone she was talking into – and momentarily met the solemn, dangerous blue eyes of her Watcher as he entered the room, his hands covered in a mixture of blood and an ointment he had mixed himself to put on Anya’s wound. He did not say a word as he made his way to the sink and turned on the water to wash his hands.

 

“Willow – he lied,” Buffy finally continued, hoping that the redheaded witch would let her get the whole story out this time. “There is no new demon we’ve been fighting – he needed the magic so he could get back at Spike. When Spike disappeared – just before – you went to England – it was because Xander had hurt him…”

 

“Buffy…”

 

“Let me finish!”

 

There was a brief pause, before a muffled, reluctant, “Okay.”

 

“He shot him.” Buffy did not hesitate – afraid that if she waited, she would not be able to bring herself to say the words – to shatter her friend’s heart the way that hers had so recently been shattered, by Xander’s betrayal. “He shot him in the head, and kept him chained up in the Initiative caves. He hurt him, Will. He tortured him, and beat him, and – and basically took out every last shred of the junk he’s been repressing for as long as we’ve known him – on *Spike*.”

 

Both girls were silent for a long moment, before Willow spoke up again, cautiously. “Buffy – are you *sure*? I mean – I can see Xander hurting Spike, after – after what happened with him and Anya. But – but *torture*? And Xander would never, *never* hurt Anya! I know it!”

 

“He shot her, Willow!” Buffy insisted, her voice sharp and angry again. “She caught him hurting Spike, and he shot her!”

 

“Xander wouldn’t do that!”

 

Buffy flinched at the suddenly warning edge to her friend’s trembling, angry voice – and in her mind’s eye, she could see those sparkling green eyes darkening into pools of black, as she still saw every now and then in her nightmares.

 

Before Buffy could formulate a response, Giles was suddenly standing facing her, his expression serious but calm as he met her eyes again, slowly and thoroughly drying his freshly washed hands on a dishtowel, and then setting it aside on the counter.

 

“Let me speak with her, Buffy.”

 

Buffy nodded, holding his gaze with a concerned question in her eyes, as she said into the phone, “Just a second, Will. Giles wants to talk to you…”

 

As she handed the phone to her Watcher, she asked quietly, “Is she okay?”

 

Giles nodded curtly, though Buffy got the impression that his irritation was not with her.

 

*At least *someone’s* not mad at me,* she thought with a pang of self-pity – for which she immediately chided herself.

 

“She’s sleeping,” Giles replied in a soft, even voice. “She’ll be fine, now.”

 

Buffy nodded again, letting out a sigh of relief as she walked into the living room – more than happy to hand over the task of convincing Willow of Xander’s guilt, to one who was probably much more capable of convincing her. But with the first words from her Watcher’s mouth, she flinched at the scathing accusation of his voice – and hurried her pace to escape the sounds of the brewing confrontation.

 

******************************

 

“You’re still nothing but an amateur with the arrogance to think that the forces of nature are nothing more than toys for you to play with, or share with your little friends as you like, are you, Willow?”

 

The young witch’s shock was clear in her stunned silence, as she obviously was caught off guard by the Watcher’s controlled, but clearly furious words.

 

“Giles – I…”

 

“You just took his word for it, did you?” he went on, a bitter irony in his slightly trembling voice. “Just accepted that he would know how to use the magics that you passed on to him?  And now Anya could have *died* tonight because of your foolishness! Did it never cross your mind to wonder why *Xander* was calling to speak to you about magic? Why *I* would not have been the one to call you, if your assistance was truly needed for anything *good*?”

 

His fear for Anya had turned into fury – and he released it on his young protégé, finding in her careless actions, a place to vent his frustration and anger, and the rising sense of betrayal he was feeling toward the young man who had been like a son to him. But when Willow spoke again, and he heard the tears in her voice – Giles felt some of his anger beginning to deflate.

 

“I – I’m sorry,” she said in a trembling whisper. “I didn’t think – I didn’t think it was as dangerous for him. He’s always been so – so *good*. And I – I thought it was – I thought it was mostly just *me*…”

 

Her voice trailed off, but Giles understood what she was trying to say – and he felt his heart, almost against his own wishes, softening at the vulnerability in her voice.

 

After all – Willow had been as much a daughter to him as Xander had once been a son.

 

“In the wrong hands, Willow – not necessarily evil hands, but even *inexperienced* hands – magic is always a danger.” He paused, regaining a bit of his composure before he stated firmly, “You should have asked to speak with me – asked me if it was safe.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Willow repeated softly – but with a rising uncertainty in her voice. “But – Giles – surely *Xander* wouldn’t…I mean…it has to be a mistake – right?”

 

Giles swallowed back the instinctive anger that rose up in him again at hearing her blind defense of the boy – reminding himself with an effort that a few days ago, he would have defended him just as adamantly.

 

“There’s no mistake, Willow. And now – I need to know exactly what magics you’ve given to him – and exactly how we can counteract them. I would have you flown over here immediately, if there was time – but I’m afraid there’s not. We have to find Spike, before…”

 

Giles’ words broke off abruptly, and he blinked in surprise – as the redhead suddenly materialized in front of him, a slightly sheepish, sad smile on her tear-streaked face. Slowly, he replaced the telephone in its cradle, as he waited for her explanation.

 

“I’ve been practicing with – with moderation – and – and not letting the magic get out of control – and only with spells that only affect myself personally,” she stammered out, her eyes lowered in anxious uncertainty as to how he might react to her use of magic, in light of the conversation they had just been having. “And – I didn’t – teleport anyone – anyone else.” She shrugged, wide green eyes suddenly focused on his in a silent appeal, as she finished weakly, “Just me. Is – is that okay?”

 

Giles said nothing for a long moment – and then slowly drew in and released a deep, heavy breath…as he moved forward to take the girl in his arms. Willow was momentarily caught off guard – but then, she leaned her head on his chest, crying softly.

 

“I’m sorry, Giles – I thought it was – I thought it was safe…it was *Xander* -- you know?”

 

“I know,” Giles relented, his voice softening as he drew back from her, blinking back tears of his own before she could see how emotional the whole affair was making him. “We couldn’t have known – none of us could have known…”

 

Willow was quiet for a moment, studying his expression, before her eyes widened with a new alarm. “How’s Buffy taking this? I mean – this has got to be hard on her…”

 

“Hard is – er – hardly an adequate word,” Giles remarked with a little grimace – and then, his expression became more serious as he added soberly, “And I believe she could certainly use your presence right now, Willow. I have a feeling that right now – Buffy is probably feeling terribly – alone. More so than she’s felt since – well, since she’s been – back.”

 

Willow nodded slowly, her gaze lowering again with the reminder of what her first major magical mistake had cost her friend the year before. When she looked up at Giles again, she had her resolve face on, as she asked a single question, determination in her voice.

 

“Where is she?”

 

******************************

 

“They’ll never think to look for me here,” Xander crowed as he carelessly shoved his disoriented captive to the floor against the wall, and then ignored him as he paced about the nearly empty basement room. “This is the *last* place I’d ever willingly go again!” he laughed – and it was a bitter, ugly sound.

 

The basement of his parents’ house was still nearly as empty as it had been when he had left it the previous year, to move into his new apartment. After all, his parents were not exactly wealthy – and they had not amassed much more in the way of possessions than they had had when he had left.

 

“Okay,” Xander spoke aloud, though Spike knew instinctively that he was talking to himself, not to his vampire prisoner. “Okay – this’ll at least buy me some thinking time…enough time to figure out…where to go from here…”

 

As the boy paced almost frantically back and forth across the cold cement floor, Spike drew back against the wall when his footsteps came too near to wear he huddled, half-sitting, half-kneeling, on the floor. His mind was racing, desperately trying to think of some way out of this situation.

 

His eyes darted automatically toward the stairs that led into the ground level of the house – but he knew that that was not really an option. He did not know his way around any part of this building but the basement – and Xander clearly did.

 

He would never make it out of the house before Xander managed to stop him.

 

And the attempt would certainly not be worth the suffering that would be inflicted on him then.

 

“Okay – Anya – there’s the problem,” Xander was still thinking aloud as he paced back and forth, his eyes wild and darting across the room every now and then, as if startled by some sound or flash of sight that Spike could not see or here.

 

Vaguely, the vampire recognized the reactions as paranoia – and that such a mental state made Xander even more dangerous than usual.

 

“I wish I hadn’t had to shoot her – damn it! Why did I have to…?”

 

Spike’s blood ran cold as Xander’s dark eyes came to rest on him, narrowed in cold rage. He flinched back against the wall as the boy swiftly advanced on him, his foot pulled back to kick him. At the last second however, the boy turned away, shaking his head in annoyance.

 

“No,” he muttered, clearly frustrated. “No, I’ve gotta admit – that was all her. Stupid loud mouth bitch! Always running her mouth when she should have just kept it shut! Always doing everything she could to embarrass me – to make me mad – it’s like she *wanted* me to hit her, you know?”

 

Spike froze, unsure how to respond as the boy’s vaguely manic eyes suddenly focused on him in a question.

 

Was he supposed to answer?

 

Would he be punished if he didn’t – or if he did?

 

The question became moot, as Xander suddenly staggered back toward the wall across from Spike, and sank down to the floor in a crouch against he wall, his arms resting on his knees, and his head buried in his arms as he broke down into harsh, guttural sounding sobs.

 

Spike didn’t dare to move or make a sound – though he found his eyes once more drawn toward the stairs – and possible escape…

 

*Was* it possible?

 

While he was wondering, Xander looked up at the ceiling, rolling his eyes wildly as he groaned, “Oh God, how did I get here? What happened?”

 

Spike hesitated – unsure what to expect from this Xander – this very different Xander than any version he remembered seeing. The stairs were looking more and more inviting all the time – especially when the boy lowered his head into his arms again, with a muffled moan, “Oh, Anya…how could I have *shot* her…?”

 

Spike had almost made up his mind to run for the door – when, as if by his own force of will, it suddenly swung open, flooding the darkened stairs with a dim light from whatever room opened onto the basement.

 

“Hello?” a harsh-sounding woman’s voice called down the stairs – slightly slurred with alcohol. “Is somebody down there?” Her tone was suspicious, and vaguely threatening – at least, Xander seemed to think so.

 

He pulled back along the wall, his eyes wide, obviously not wanting the woman to know he was there – and he held up a warning hand for Spike to stay silent.

 

He would not have dared otherwise.

 

And then, a male voice echoed her question, also sounding drunk and dark and menacing. “Somebody in the basement?” he asked, and as he spoke the voice drew closer to the stairs. “Burglar? I’ll get my gun…close the door for now, and lock it…”

 

As the door shut, shutting out the light, and Spike’s eyes gradually readjusted to the darkness – and the realization that escape through that door was not going to be a possibility – his eyes fell on Xander again.

 

The boy was still staring up the stairs, his eyes wide and focused not on the stairs – not even on the here and now – but on some long-remembered, old past event. As Spike watched with alarm, Xander’s jaw set with rage, and his eyes narrowed with bitter outrage and dangerous fury, even as tears streaked his face, deranged and frightening in the glow of the moonlight through the one, tiny basement window.

 

“That’s how,” Spike heard Xander mutter as he rose slowly to his feet, still glaring up the stairs. “Their fault. That’s how – that’s why – their fault!” he nodded emphatically as the idea began to become more firmly entrenched in his unstable mind. “*His* fault – not mine! He did this to me!”

 

Spike felt a new chill run down his spine, though he wasn’t quite sure why, as Xander’s voice became deadly calm, and a smile came over his face. He shrugged slightly, giving Spike a cold, almost maniacal smile as he remarked,

 

“Only one way to fix it.”


	48. Chapter 48

“What are they doing up there?” Dawn demanded, standing up from where she sat on the couch, waiting for Buffy and Willow to come back downstairs. Her arms crossed over her chest, and she paced impatiently as she looked up at Giles in frustrated expectation. “We don’t have any time to waste right now! We have to find him!”

 

“Your sister needs a few minutes, Dawn,” Giles informed her in a soft, calm voice. “She is the Slayer, and our best hope of accomplishing anything – and she needs to be at her best if we are going to do anything to help Spike.”

 

“Then why doesn’t she get her selfish, stupid rear down here and *do something*?”

 

Dawn snapped the words out bitterly, casting a vicious glare up the stairs before stalking back to the couch and flouncing back down onto it beside Angel, who was sitting on the very edge of the sofa, his fingers tapping anxiously on the end table beside it as he also stared up the stairs with a solemn expression on his face, waiting for Buffy to emerge again.

 

“Why did she even come here if all she’s gonna do is sit up there and baby Buffy all night?” Dawn muttered, staring sullenly down at her lap.

 

“I’ve gotta say,” Angel said quietly, directing his words to the Watcher. “I think Willow’s talents could be put to a lot better use than…”

 

His words broke off suddenly, before any of the others were even aware of the soft opening of the upstairs bedroom door that he had just heard. Dawn was staring at him incredulously, her eyebrows raised in surprised appraisal, at the fact that the vampire she had never really been on good terms with was actually agreeing with her for once.

 

She had just opened her mouth to comment on that fact – probably sarcastically – when two soft sets of footsteps on the stairs drew her attention, as her sister and the redheaded witch finally descended the stairs, Willow in the lead.

 

“Okay,” she said in a quiet, firm voice, her eyes meeting each of theirs in turn before finally coming to rest on the face of the Watcher. “How are we doing as of right now?”

 

“Anya’s doing well, sleeping upstairs,” Giles began with the point that was of the most interest to him. “She should be fine when she awakens; the poultice I used should speed her healing process – which is already quite rapid, as it is…”

 

“No – I meant – do we have any idea where Xander might have gone?”

 

When Willow’s gentle question was met with only blank stares, her expression became slightly exasperated as she added, “I’m – assuming you guys have been sitting down here brainstorming – right? Trying to come up with ideas?”

 

Giles broke the momentary silence as he explained truthfully, “Really, Willow – we were rather waiting on the two of you to come down. I was thinking – perhaps a location spell?”

 

“Okay – so we find Xander,” Willow began slowly, anxiously studying the faces of those around her as she drew in a deep breath and continued, “Then what?”

 

The silence that followed her question was deafening, as each thought of their own personal answers to that pivotal question – and how the others might react to their ideas of what should be done to – or for – the clearly very troubled young man they had once considered to be among the best of their friends.

 

Dawn knew exactly what she thought should be done – and had no problems with sharing her opinion.

 

“He hurt Spike,” she reminded them all in a voice of stone. “He tortured him – and he would have killed Anya if Spike hadn’t stopped him.” She paused, before adding coldly, “We have to save Spike – without anybody else getting hurt. And if the only way to do that, is to stop Xander for good – before he can shoot Spike, or anybody else – well, then – I think he deserves whatever he gets.”

 

“You’re saying you think we should – kill Xander.” Willow’s voice was full of stunned understanding.

 

“Why not? He tried to kill Anya! He did *worse* than kill Spike!” Dawn snapped back defiantly, her voice trembling with anger.

 

“But there may be another way,” Giles reminded her softly, his eyes dark and troubled. “It may not be necessary to…”

 

“I don’t really care if it’s *necessary,” Angel interrupted, a dangerous edge to his voice. “That boy destroyed and tortured my childe. He broke him to a point that’s almost beyond repair.” He was quiet a moment, before stating in a tone of intent challenge, “He needs to pay for what he’s done.”

 

“There are other ways,” Buffy finally spoke up, her voice soft and hesitant, her face a mask of confusion and uncertainty. “I mean – for him to pay for it. He doesn’t necessarily have to – to die – does he?”

 

“You don’t *want* him to?” Dawn demanded, standing up again, her eyes blazing with outraged fury. “After what he did?”

 

“Dawn – how could I want him to?” Buffy’s voice broke with anguish, as fresh tears streaked down her face. “It’s *Xander*, Dawnie!”

 

“He’s sick, Buffy! He’s a sick, perverted monster, and you’re *defending* him? How can you…”

 

“You don’t just kill somebody because they’re ‘sick’, Dawnie! He needs help! He needs…”

 

“He needs to die!” Dawn snarled, stalking to the foot of the stairs to get right in her shorter but older sister’s face. “He needs to die for what he did to Spike!” She paused, shaking her head in disgust as she glared at her sister, and added, “You’re as sick as he is! He hurt Spike the first time – but it’s *your* fault Xander’s got him now!”

 

“Dawn,” Giles warned her quietly, stepping toward the developing stand off between the two sisters. Before he could say anything else, Buffy had let out an outburst of her own, in a tone of desperate, despairing anguish.

 

“*Don’t you think I know that*?”

 

The room fell silent in the wake of her trembling, sobbing question – each of them stunned to silence by her words, and the power of the tumultuous emotions behind them.

 

Dawn seemed a bit taken aback by that – and did in fact take a step backward, her expression softening just slightly on her sister’s face, though the underlying anger was still present. Giles swallowed hard, looking at the floor, unsure how to help the girls deal with what they were going through. Angel sat still on the sofa, his eyes averted from Buffy’s face; it was clear that he disagreed with her, but he could understand why she felt the way she did.

 

Willow was the first to break the weighted silence.

 

“You guys don’t actually think this is *helping* anything – do you?”

 

When no one answered, she let out a soft, sad laugh, shaking her head. “I mean – come on, guys, we can’t be doing this, if we’re going to help either of them…”

 

“I *don’t* want to help Xander!” Dawn declared.

 

“What if that’s the only way to help Spike?” Willow countered, her eyes narrowed slightly in irritation at the interruption.

 

Dawn shook her head slightly, obviously not following.

 

“He’s obviously losing it, Dawnie – which means he’s very dangerous and unpredictable. We may need to try to get through to Xander, in order to get Spike away from him at all. I mean, if he has a weapon…”

 

“Buffy has weapons,” Dawn pointed out, crossing her arms over her chest and giving the witch a challenging look, before glaring at her sister resentfully, “She just doesn’t want to use them. Because Xander is so much more important than Spike. After all, he’s *human*. The only people he’s hurt aren’t really people anyway, so what does the *Slayer* care?”

 

“Dawnie, that’s not fair!” Buffy cried out, coming down the last few stairs toward her sister. “You *know* I care – I didn’t mean for this to happen…”

 

“Yeah, well, it did…” Dawn spat out scathingly. “And if you really cared…”

 

“Hey, Dawnie,” Willow interrupted her sharply, her tone calm but pointed. “I wonder, while you’re standing here, going off on Buffy – what Xander’s doing to Spike right now.”

 

Dawn stared at her, startled, and just a little bit horrified.

 

Willow shrugged, feigning carelessness. “I mean – he’s probably hurting him, right? Apparently he’s been doing a lot of that lately – and I bet he’s really upset over what happened upstairs tonight. I wonder if he’s planning on staking him.” She paused for impact, looking around the room at all of their stunned expressions – all focused on her. “I wonder if he’s staked him already.”

 

Giving them all a moment to take in her point, she went on softly, “All this fighting – all these accusations – aren’t solving anything. Xander and Spike are still out there somewhere – *right now*. If we wait much longer – they could *both* end up dead. But hey!” she smiled, but it did not reach her serious, worried eyes, as she added with unmistakable irony, “At least we’ll have figured out whose *fault* it is, so I guess it’ll all be worth it!”

 

“Willow’s right.” Angel spoke up as he rose to his feet. “This isn’t helping Spike. We need to find them, first of all – get him away from that creep…” There was an obvious hesitation in his voice, before he forced himself to say the last words, “…then we can decide what to do with Xander.”

 

As far as Angel was concerned – the matter was already decided.

 

“All right, then,” Willow said, nodding with the air of someone who had not quite forgotten what it was like to be “the boss of” a group. “Let’s get to the locatin’.”

 

Giles nodded, a small, pleased smile coming over his face, in spite of the circumstances, at the way his protégé had handled the awkward conversation, as he turned and went to the kitchen to gather supplies for the location spell.

 

“And Dawnie,” Willow said softly, pulling the girl aside as Buffy and Angel tried to see how quickly they could rearrange the living room furniture for the spell without actually speaking to each other.

 

“What?” Dawn was still sulking, not at all trusting Willow – or her sister, for that matter – to put Spike’s interests first in the situation.

 

“Spike’s your best friend – right?”

 

“Yes,” Dawn answered without hesitation, defiance in her eyes – daring Willow, or anyone else, to challenge the validity of her feelings for the blonde vampire.

 

Willow nodded her acceptance quietly, waiting a moment before she stated calmly, “Xander’s mine. And Buffy’s. Or – he was, anyway. I’m not sure what’s going to happen now, actually. But what I’m trying to say in my own spazzed-out, rambling way, is this – if someone told *you* that *Spike* had done to Xander, what Xander did to Spike – and you hadn’t seen it for yourself, with your own eyes – don’t try to tell me you wouldn’t defend him.”

 

Dawn opened her mouth to protest, frowning – and found suddenly that she had no idea how to counter that sort of logic.

 

“Buffy’s trying,” Willow went on firmly, holding the younger girl’s gaze with sympathy, but also a gentle reprimand. “She’s doing the best she can – and she didn’t mean for this to happen. You have no idea how sorry she is.”

 

Now, Dawn *did* have words, and she opened her mouth to say them – but Willow was already speaking again.

 

“If it was Spike – you’d have wanted to give him every benefit of the doubt – wouldn’t you?”

 

Dawn shut her mouth, her jaw setting in the beginnings of stubborn denial.

 

“*Wouldn’t you*?” Willow repeated the question emphatically.

 

Dawn let out a deep breath, her eyes averted, as she nodded reluctantly. “Yeah,” she admitted. “Yeah, I guess I would.”

 

“Okay,” Willow nodded, satisfied that she had made her point. “So getting mad at her right now doesn’t do anyone any good. We all need to be together on this if we’re gonna help *anyone* -- okay?”

 

“Okay,” Dawn finally, quietly relented.

 

“Okay,” Willow repeated, her face breaking into a cheery smile that would have been completely inappropriate for the situation, had it been on any face but hers. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

**********************************

 

Spike warily watched the rapidly pacing young man, glancing anxiously toward the locked door at the top of the stairs – painfully aware of the fact that within minutes, someone would be coming down those stairs…

 

…and though he really had no way of knowing for sure – Spike had a sinking feeling that that would not be a good thing, for him or anyone else.

 

Apparently – Xander thought otherwise.

 

“Perfect!” he muttered, his eyes wide and shining with mad excitement. “This is perfect! It couldn’t be any better! It’s practically – practically genius, really! I mean – it’s poetry – pure poetry…”

 

Spike began to tune him out as he rambled on, not really sure if the boy was talking to him or to himself – not sure if Xander even knew the answer to that question. His mind raced as he tried to come up with some way to use the situation to his advantage – some way to escape when the door was opened.

 

His thoughts were cut off with a sudden rush of panic, when Xander was suddenly crouched in front of him, inches from his face, his hand snared viciously in Spike’s tangled blonde hair, tearing at his mercilessly abused scalp. Before the vampire could let out the yelp of pain that rose in his throat, Xander was already snarling a warning in his face, his dark eyes narrowed in menace.

 

“Don’t you dare make a *sound*, Spike – do you understand me? You keep your stupid mouth *shut*!”

 

Spike nodded as best he could, wincing at the boy’s painful grip, but biting back the sob of pain that rose in his throat.

 

“Now I’m gonna go upstairs for a few minutes,” Xander began to explain with exaggerated patience tinged with soft menace, his dark eyes suddenly wide and shining with a frightening light of manic glee. He shook his head slowly as he added, “There’s no way out – no way but up those stairs – and that door’s locking behind me the minute they let me in. So you are *not* getting away from me!”

 

He shook him as he spoke, his voice becoming irrationally angry, as the unstable boy seemed to shift moods every few seconds. “Don’t even try it! You think you’re smarter than me, Spike, is that it? You think you can get away from *me*?”

 

Spike swallowed convulsively, trying to shake his head, his eyes shut tight against the terror of Xander’s threatening tone. He bit back the instinctive plea that rose to his lips, the assurance that he would not try to escape – knowing that any speech at all was only likely to further anger the boy.

 

“You’re gonna stay right here, on your freakin’ *knees* where you belong, until I come back down here to get you – aren’t you, Spike?” Xander snarled, his voice trembling with a dangerous edge of rage as he moved in even closer.

 

Spike nodded desperately, doing his best to keep perfectly still and silent under the intense pressure of Xander’s suspicious glare, as the boy searched the face of his captive for any sign of deception.

 

At the moment – there was none to find.

 

Spike would do anything the boy said, if only to avoid further suffering at his hands.

 

But that did not mean that Xander, clinging to his sanity by a thread now, would not find something worthy of punishment there anyway – even if it didn’t actually exist.

 

Spike’s body shook with relief when the boy finally released him, standing up straight and moving toward the foot of the stairs. He cast a mischievous grin back at Spike, his mood instantly cheerful as he made his way to the door at the top.

 

“Be right back.”

 

Spike stayed where he had been instructed to stay, as Xander knocked loudly on the door. “Mom – hey, Mom – open the door!”

 

There was a moment’s near-silence, as quiet footsteps approached the door upstairs. “Xander?” a woman’s voice said uncertainly. “Is that you?”

 

“Yeah, Mom, let me in!”

 

“What are you doing in the basement?” the voice asked, and behind it, Spike could hear the metallic sound of the deadbolt upstairs being unlatched.

 

His blood ran cold as he saw the boy take the pistol from his pocket, smiling a soft, chilling, lost sort of smile as he replied, “I just – came to get something I left behind – and you locked me down here!”

 

The door opened, flooding the staircase with light, and yielding a maniacal gleam to Xander’s suddenly soft dark eyes, as he smiled with what appeared to be genuine affection at the woman who had given him breath and life – and little else, during his twenty-three years of life.

 

His voice was chillingly gentle as he softly greeted her.

 

“Hi, Mom…”


	49. Chapter 49

Once Giles had gathered together the few supplies that Willow would need for the location spell, and the Watcher and the witch had retired to the kitchen – where Willow said there was much less “yucky, angry energy” – the mood in the living room returned to much the same as it had been before Willow and Buffy had come downstairs, with one major difference.

 

Buffy *was* downstairs.

 

She knew that most of the others blamed her, at least to some extent, for the disaster that had become of her plan – and she really could not fault them for it. She blamed *herself* for what had happened, for the fact that despite her promises, Spike was once again in danger, at the hand of the one who had broken and abused him.

 

She did not make eye contact with anyone, or say anything, as she hesitantly crossed the room from the stairs to the sofa, her arms crossed defensively over her chest. She sat down on the edge of the couch, her legs drawn up under her, visibly huddling in on herself as if expecting the other occupants of the room to physically attack her.

 

Dawn did not seem far from doing just that.

 

Willow’s words had momentarily left her at a loss for an argument – but the emotion of anger that filled her toward her sister, and her foolish actions that had cost Spike so much, had not vanished with the witch’s well-placed, logical explanations.

 

Spike was still in danger – and he still would *not* be, if Buffy had listened to her warnings about the stupid plan.

 

As far as Dawn was concerned – that was all there was to it.

 

For Buffy – it was nowhere near that simple.

 

She still could hardly bring herself to believe that it was her best friend who had done those horrible things to Spike. Her mind filled with images from the past few years…Xander awkwardly, shyly, asking her on the date that she had refused him…his face hovering anxiously over her moments after he had literally breathed the life back into her body…his scratched and bleeding face, exhausted and confused, but so open and full of love, in the hectic hours following his infamous “yellow crayon speech” that had saved the world from Willow’s grief-stricken rage.

 

And now – there was no such valid excuse for the horrible crimes that it was increasingly obvious that he had committed.

 

Xander had not lost anyone to an untimely death – had not been abused or violated in the ways that Spike had been – had no terrible, traumatic event on which to blame his actions.

 

Anger.

 

Hatred.

 

Petty jealousy.

 

Those were his motives for taking a creature that was helpless to do any harm to anyone else, and not simply taking his life, but rather destroying him in a brutal act of cruelty – and then slowly, systematically employing a regimen of sadistic abuse and degradation…rebuilding him with the mentality and emotional state of an abused, mentally handicapped child.

 

It was mind-boggling to Buffy.

 

She could hardly reconcile the two sets of images in her mind.

 

And Dawn expected her not only to be willing to kill her friend for his crimes – but to do it without any hesitation or sorrow – as if he had never meant anything to her…as if there had never been any warmth or love or depth of friendship between them.

 

But there *had* been – she remembered it.

 

It had only been days since she had been sure of it.

 

And behind all of her doubts and confusion, there was a quiet but insistent voice, berating her and accusing her, filling her with a sense of self-disgust because of her hesitation.

 

*Xander’s not the victim here!* it reminded her angrily. *Spike is! The things Xander did to him are unforgivable! He deserves to die!*

 

*But – Spike’s committed hundreds of murders – done so many more terrible things…and you can justify not killing *him*…doesn’t Xander deserve the same chance…?*

 

*Spike doesn’t even remember those things he did now! And he *begged* you to protect him, not to let Xander hurt him again – and you promised him you wouldn’t – but where is he now? Who knows if he’s even still alive…because *you* couldn’t accept the truth!*

 

“Anya!”

 

Buffy’s thoughts were nearly pulled from her reverie -- *nearly* -- when the vengeance demon suddenly appeared at the foot of the stairs. She looked pale and disheveled, and was gripping the banister for support – but she smiled weakly at the group in the living room as she made her way gingerly across the living room.

 

“How are you feeling?” Dawn asked her with obvious concern. “Better, obviously – right?”

 

“Well, it still hurts like hell – and I should know!” Anya informed them all matter-of-factly, as she sat down on the sofa , directly in the middle of the “great divide” that had separated the Summers’ sisters. “But whatever that stuff was that Giles used, worked like a charm.” She shrugged slightly, before adding, “Probably because it -- *was* a charm.”

 

No one laughed; a few half-hearted smiles were the only response her weak joke garnered.

 

“I take it the general bad mood means that we’ve had no luck in finding Xander and Spike?” Anya guessed, glancing around at Dawn, Angel, and Buffy in turn. She frowned, puzzled, as she added a second question, “Where’s Giles?”

 

“He and Willow are in the kitchen doing a locator spell to find Spike and Xander,” Dawn explained, when neither the Slayer nor the vampire seemed inclined to speak at all, each of them lost in their own personal brood-fest.

 

“Willow? What is she doing here? She’s out of her skinning people alive phase, isn’t she?” Anya frowned, alarm in her eyes, until Dawn nodded in response.

 

“She gave Xander the magic – Giles thought she should help.” Dawn’s disgust was clear in her voice as she explained. “It’s only right – it’s partly her fault this happened.” Anya wasn’t quite sure, but she thought she heard her whisper under her breath, “Stupid witch…”

 

Or it might have been a slightly different expression…Anya couldn’t be sure.

 

“Well, I’m sure she thought it’d be all right,” Anya surprised even herself by speaking up in defense of her ex-fiancee’s best friend, who had been her rival of sorts ever since she and Xander had been together. “Willow’s never shown the best judgment when it came to safety with magic, and – it was *Xander*. I’m sure she trusted him completely.”

 

“Like I said,” Dawn muttered. “Stupid.”

 

Anya did not miss the Slayer’s slight flinch at the word that was quite obviously not only directed at Willow – or the tears that streaked Buffy’s face. She was quiet for a moment, considering, before she replied in a mild tone.

 

“I don’t know – I suppose I’ve been rather stupid, too, then.”

 

Dawn gave her a puzzled, wary frown, waiting for her to explain her comment.

 

Anya shrugged slightly, as she went on, “I trusted Xander. I kind of thought – when we found Spike in the caves – that it was the sort of thing he might have done…I mean, he always hated Spike, and I knew it was probably a human that had done it…but I didn’t want to believe that he could be capable of that…so I told myself it wasn’t possible.”

 

Buffy glanced up at her, her emerald eyes wet with tears and dull with shame and worry – but showing a spark of interest at her words.

 

“I should have known better – like *really* should have known better,” Anya shook her head, with a short, ironic laugh. “But – I guess I didn’t want to.” She looked at Dawn with an open honesty that was uniquely hers in her eyes, unapologetic, as she stated, “I went along with the plan – because I wanted to know beyond all doubt – you know? I didn’t want to think it was Xander – because I loved him.”

 

Dawn stared up at her, unable to think of a response to those words.

 

After all – how did one argue with the simple truth?

 

Dawn couldn’t find a way to blame Anya for her feelings – but she could still blame Buffy.

 

“You were going to marry him – in love with him,” she countered with quiet anger in her voice. “I can understand *you* not wanting to believe it, but…”

 

“But someone who’s known him, like twice as long as I have – who practically grew up with him and faced life and death situations with him like every day that whole time – they shouldn’t have any sort of conflicting feelings at all – is that what you’re saying?” Anya guessed, holding the girl’s gaze intently.

 

“No – I mean – yes!” Dawn replied, her eyes narrowing in defiant anger. “Spike *told* us it was Xander! His word should have been just accepted, and Buffy should never have placed him in the situation to be hurt like that again! *Never*! We could have taken more time, tried to come up with something safer, if she absolutely *had* to have more proof…”

 

“She made a mistake.”

 

Angel’s voice from the chair opposite the couch was completely unexpected, and drove them all to silence, looking expectantly up at him, as he met each of their eyes in turn.

 

“Yeah – it was a stupid plan. Yeah, we all *told* her it was a stupid plan. But – she really didn’t think anything was going to happen – because deep down, I don’t think she could believe that it was Xander who did it – not until she saw it for herself.”

 

All three girls were silent for a long moment, taking in his words.

 

“I wouldn’t have believed it,” Angel added softly after a moment. “If someone had told me it was – Buffy,” his eyes met the Slayer’s, gentler than they had been all evening, as he added, “I wouldn’t have believed it unless I saw it…I would have thought that no matter how scared he might be, he would have been perfectly safe in a room with her…because there’d have been no convincing me that Buffy would be capable of something like that…”

 

The room fell silent again, as they all considered those words.

 

Dawn glanced sideways at her sister, whose eyes were focused downward again, her hands clenched together as tears streamed like rain from her eyes to wet the white-knuckled double fist in her lap.

 

The younger girl took a deep breath, and opened her mouth to speak.

 

But there was no time for her words.

 

Willow came bursting into the living room from the kitchen, an expression of grim surprise and excitement on her face.

 

“You’ll never believe where we found them,” she stated.

 

They were all already on their feet before she had finished talking, the Slayer yanking on her coat as she stalked toward the door.

 

“Tell me on the way.”

 

************************************

 

As the door closed behind Xander, shutting out the light and leaving Spike huddled in the darkness, he did not dare move from the spot where the boy had ordered him to wait. Eyes wide as he stared up toward the door at the top of the stairs, Spike listened to the voices upstairs, still clearly audible to his enhanced vampire hearing, now fully healed.

 

At first the voices were pleasant, as Xander carried on his deception for a few moments longer.

 

But within moments, the boy’s unstable mood had shifted again, and he was screaming accusations at his obviously drunken parents, who, judging by the fear in their voices, were by now aware of the weapon he held in his hand.

 

A vague sense of horror filled Spike’s mind, as he realized that the boy intended to kill his own parents.

 

He momentarily, insanely, considered rushing to the top of the stairs, attempting to do something to stop it from happening – but then quickly reminded himself that he would not be able to stop the boy from doing what he wanted to the older couple – or to him, for that matter.

 

Xander’s steadily decreasing sanity only made him more dangerous.

 

But then – Spike thought with a tiny spark of inspiration – perhaps it might also throw the boy off his game a bit.

 

His mind returned to the scene in Buffy’s bedroom, when Anya had bravely placed herself between Xander and his gun, and the terrified vampire against the wall. That terrified creature had been him – too weak and frightened and utterly devastated by Xander’s abuse to even think of standing up for himself.

 

And yet, when Xander had raised the gun to Anya – Spike had acted, with no thought for his own safety, only intent on keeping that bullet from striking its mark. Spike did not know whether or not Xander knew that Anya was no longer human – and therefore not killable by a bullet to the head – but Spike *did* know what the results of such an injury could be…first hand.

 

In that moment, he had been determined that no matter what the cost, he was *not* going to allow to happen to Anya what had happened to him – and he had tried his best to keep Xander from hitting his mark.

 

And he had succeeded.

 

True, the bullet had still injured Anya – but Spike knew enough to know that it was not a mortal wound. She had survived – and without any serious damage, such as the kind he had sustained.

 

In a way – he had won.

 

Could he possibly win again?

 

A spark of hope rose up in him, as he glanced toward the stairs, listening as the furious yelling and panicked screaming grew louder and louder. He knew that within a few minutes, Xander would most likely be coming back down those stairs – for *him*. He did not know at this point whether the boy planned on simply staking him, or on repeating his previous method of a brain-damaging gunshot to the head.

 

What he *did* know was that if he simply stayed on his knees as he had been ordered, and did not resist – he would still be shown no mercy.

 

If he fought – he might be injured, or killed.

 

If he did not fight – he would *certainly* be injured or killed.

 

Suddenly – the decision did not seem so difficult to him anymore.

 

The very least he could do was to try.

 

As the potent scent of freshly spilled blood reached Spike’s nostrils from upstairs, he felt his vampiric face come to the forefront, as his sire had shown him – and remembered Angel’s words, his reassurance that attacking Xander, hurting Xander, was perfectly all right, if he got the chance.

 

*Would* the boy give him the chance?

 

The thought that he might -- *might* -- be able to successfully defeat his former captor was a thrilling and desperate hope…one he found himself clinging to. But still, in the back of his mind, were the terrible, menacing words that had been spoken to him again and again by Xander during his captivity – promises that resistance, attempts at self-defense, could only result in more pain and punishment than Spike could imagine.

 

Xander might have lost his mind – but he *did* still have the gun.

 

Fear and hope warred within Spike’s wounded, but healing spirit, as he slowly rose to his feet in the darkness, unsure of what he would do when Xander returned, but knowing that he wanted to be ready for him when he did…and wondering if this newly found courage that spurred him to action would hold out until he did.

TBC...


	50. Chapter 50

Spike felt the fear and tension steadily building higher within him, as he listened to the violent sounds from the upper level of the house growing louder and louder. Xander’s voice in particular was rising in pitch, trembling with uncontrolled rage, as he hurled venomous accusations and curses at his parents.

 

His mother’s voice was higher pitched than his, and frantic, as she tried to interrupt, him, clearly terrified.

 

A man’s voice – had to be the boy’s father – sounded slurred and unconcerned, but increasingly angry – apparently too drunk even to recognize the very real threat that his own son now posed.

 

Spike listened carefully to every word – if only to keep himself from thinking too much about other things.

 

He was on his feet now, his body taut with fearful anticipation, waiting for the door to unlock and the boy to come back downstairs – intent on completing his vengeance. Spike did not know exactly what he was going to do when that happened, but he had a feeling that it was probably best not to think about it too much.

 

If he spent too much time thinking about what Xander might do, and what his best reaction might be – he might just come to the conclusion that his best reaction would be to fall back to his knees and do as the boy said.

 

And a long-buried, newly-reborn part of him whispered insistently that, no matter how terrified he was, how badly he wanted to do just that – that choice would only lead to his own death and destruction.

 

He flinched automatically, his back colliding with the wall behind him, when he heard Xander’s voice suddenly became an uncontrolled roar of rage – a sound of hurt and anger and betrayal that had all become huge and overwhelming enough to mutate into madness.

 

“*I’m* a failure?” he heard the boy screaming. “I’m a worthless, no-good failure? How do you think I *got this way*? *You…made…me…what…I…am!* It’s your fault! It’s all your fault!”

 

“Don’t! *Don’t*!” the woman’s voice became a panicked, strangled scream, drowned partially out by a series of thuds and sounds of things falling over and shattering against the floor upstairs.

 

“*Shut up*!” Xander screamed at her in rage. “Shut up! You let him do it – you could have left – you didn’t have to let him do it to us – but you did!” As the woman cried hysterically, he continued, “*Shut up! You have nothing to cry about! You’re just as guilty as he is! Guilty! You’re both guilty! Gotta pay – you’ve both gotta pay for what we did…you’ve both gotta pay, or it’ll never be right again…”

 

There was a moment’s eerie partial silence, in which all Spike heard was the woman’s softer crying, as the boy’s rant fell silent – and then, his sharp hearing picked up a slight hitch in her breath – followed by her panicked, desperate voice.

 

“Xander, *no*! *NO*!”

 

A series of rapid shots followed her words – and cut them off.

 

Her voice just – stopped.

 

No more screaming – no more crying – just…deadly silence.

 

At least – from her.

 

Now, the man was shouting, shock and rage and terror all mingled in his alcohol-slurred voice as he accused his son, “What did you *do*? Xander, how could you do this – what did you do?”

 

Spike heard a couple of soft thumps that he instinctively knew was the sound of the man’s knees hitting the floor – most likely at the side of his fallen wife. The soft sobs that followed confirmed that guess in Spike’s mind, as he drew back harder against the wall, feeling the tight sensation of panic growing stronger in his chest.

 

He thought of what the boy was obviously capable of – and the fact that if he could do what he was doing right now, to his own parents…he would certainly show no mercy to his vampire prisoner, the one he had viewed as his enemy for so long now.

 

*Get on your knees – are you stupid?* the voice in his head that still vaguely resembled Xander’s told him urgently. *If you’re not on your knees when he gets down here…*

 

*Nothing will happen any differently than if you *are* on your knees when he gets down here,* the softer, more reasonable voice of his thoughts reminded him. *He’s going to kill you – or worse – no matter what you do…unless you can stop him…*

 

“She’s dying!” Spike heard the older man’s voice choke out the words from upstairs – and he wondered vaguely if the man had managed to get to the gun he had mentioned before his son had managed to get to him.

 

It didn’t sound as if he had.

 

“She needs help, you little idiot!” Mr. Harris snarled in a voice that was filled with tears in spite of its anger and hatred. “She’s gonna die – you’re gonna kill your own mother…”

 

“…and father.” The boy’s voice was deadly soft, chillingly calm, and Spike knew that those two words would haunt him for the rest of his existence, even as Xander went on, “I know…” Spike could almost hear the inappropriately casual shrug of the boy’s shoulders, could almost see the soft smile on his face, as he concluded, “…it sucks…but it’s the only way…”

 

“No -- *no*…!”

 

Three shots in quick succession followed the words as the boy emptied his weapon into his father’s body – and then, the sickening sound of the empty clicks as he kept firing, many times, long after he had no ammunition left.

 

A testimony to the hatred that his father had passed down to him – that had eventually found its way back around.

 

Then – total stillness followed.

 

Spike braced himself against the wall, willing his trembling knees to hold up under him, not to fall to the floor as they seemed inclined to do – when he finally heard the soft, slow footsteps as the boy returned, moving slowly toward the top of the stairs.

 

***********************************

 

Buffy had taken off at a run the moment she had heard Willow speak the location where the spell had placed Xander and Spike. Her friends called after her urgently – but she ignored their voices, just focusing on getting there as quickly as possible. She knew that her Slayer strength and speed would carry her there far more quickly than the others could run – but she had no time to wait.

 

The idea of driving – the fact that they had two people there with cars parked in her driveway – did not even occur to her. She had never learned to drive well, and had become accustomed to using her Slayer speed to get wherever she wanted to go, *almost* as quickly as a car could have carried her, anyway.

 

She was halfway across town when Angel’s black convertible suddenly swerved halfway up onto the sidewalk in front of her, cutting off her path, and he leaned his head out the open window as she slowed to a frustrated stop.

 

“Get in.”

 

“I’m fine…”

 

“Buffy get your stubborn butt in this car right now!” Dawn’s voice chimed in from the front passenger seat, as she leaned across Angel to talk to her sister, who had just reached the side of the window. “We’ll all get there faster this way.”

 

Buffy looked up as a small red sports car – Giles’ car – passed them, speeding toward their destination on the other side of town – and she realized that they were right.

 

“Okay,” she agreed, climbing into the backseat of the vehicle with Anya.

 

Apparently, Willow was the only one who had ridden with Giles.

 

“Really, Buffy, did you really think you could beat a *car* across town to that dumpy little house?” She paused, shaking her head in mild disbelief, before adding, “Especially when the car is being driven by a speed demon daddy vampire who drives like a maniac even when his childe is *not* in danger?”

 

“How would you know? When have you ever ridden with me when Spike wasn’t in danger?” Angel muttered a slightly resentful retort, as the other occupants of the car all lurched in their seats when he pressed harder on the gas pedal and added under his breath,

 

“And when is Spike ever *not* in danger, anyway?”

 

**********************************

 

The light that shone through the open door at the top of the stairs seemed like the blackest darkness to Spike, for what it represented – his own doom, headed slowly but surely toward him – and as Xander made his way nearer, Spike was not aware of it as his own demon face receded.

 

His mind raced, as he tried his best to decide what he should do when Xander reached him. He knew that the boy would be furious when he saw that he was no longer on his knees, and would surely intend to punish him – but then, he intended to either stake him, or shoot him in the head again, anyway…so what difference did it make?

 

Then, something he had noticed before, but not really registered completely, suddenly occurred to the trembling, apprehensive vampire – and he found himself standing up a little straighter – a little less afraid.

 

A *little*.

 

Xander had emptied his gun.

 

So – the worst the boy could do to him was to stake him – right?

 

Xander stopped short at the foot of the stairs, giving his eyes time to adjust to the darkness – and when they did, those dark eyes narrowed dangerously over a cruel, maniacal smile.

 

Something inside Spike curled up in a sick, shaking, terrified feeling – and it was all he could do in that moment to keep from wilting to his knees then and there.

 

Xander’s expression hardened when he saw the vampire straighten his stance with an effort, although Spike could not quite bring himself to hold the boy’s gaze.

 

*Don’t look at me – you don’t *deserve* to look at me!* he remembered the snarled command, one he had heard repeatedly, and been punished for disobeying, many times before he had even recovered his sight.

 

He had quickly learned that it was safest always to keep his head down.

 

“What’s wrong with this picture, Spike?”

 

The familiar question echoed against the stone walls of the empty room, as the boy stalked slowly nearer to the trembling – but *standing* -- vampire. When Spike could not bring himself to respond, or to look up at Xander – he smiled in cold amusement, reading his reaction as the weakness and fear that he had so thoroughly trained into him.

 

“I asked you a question, Spike,” he pointed out in a falsely gentle, warning tone. “And unless you want me to shoot you again – unless you want me to put you right back in your place, for *good* this time – you’d better answer it.”

 

Spike’s stomach leapt up into his chest as the boy slowly closed the distance between them, although he knew that that was one threat that Xander could not carry out – at least, not right at the moment.

 

But Xander obviously had no idea that he knew that.

 

That thought stirred something deep down inside Spike – some…knowledge – that he knew was very significant, though he could not quite put his finger on why at the moment.

 

But then, Xander had reached him – and his thoughts scattered when the boy reached out a strong hand – strong for a human – and gripped his throat, slamming him back, pinned against the wall, tightly enough that he could not draw breath at all. Still, a little scrap of a thought echoed insistently through his mind, clamoring for his attention.

 

*He doesn’t know…*

 

“You really are stupid, aren’t you, Spike?” Xander’s voice was soft, frighteningly controlled, in light of how madly out of control he had been upstairs just a few minutes earlier.

 

Somehow, the insanity of those earlier moments had made the boy seem less powerful in Spike’s eyes.

 

*Not in control…he’s not…he doesn’t know…*

 

Again, that elusive something in his fractured, still weakened mind tried to put itself together – and was momentarily hindered as the boy drew back the hand that still held the empty gun, and struck, breaking the vampire’s nose with the power of the blow.

 

“I’m gonna give you one more chance to answer me,” Xander sneered, leaning in close to his face in a way that he knew had always terrified him in the past, “and you’re going to answer me – you’re going to tell me what’s got me so *pissed off* with you!” His voice rose to a loud snarl on the end of the statement – and then softened again dangerously as he continued, “Or I’m going to take this gun…” He pressed it to Spike’s temple menacingly, “…and blow your stupid freakin’ brains out…*again*.”

 

Spike’s stomach lurched with a momentary fear – that suddenly faded away, as he remembered that the gun was empty.

 

*Can’t – he *can’t*…*

 

And then – the something his mind had been trying to figure out…all fell into perfect place.

 

*He can’t do it…he knows he can’t do it, and he’s lying – to keep you under control…* the calm, rational voice of his thoughts told him softly but surely. His eyes widened, as the thought completed in his head, *…because he knows – that’s the *only…way…he… can*!*

“The problem is, Spikey,” Xander was taunting him in that soft, menacing voice that had terrified him for so long, “you’re not on your knees, like I told you – are you?”

 

Spike automatically shook his head, his eyes averted – and his mind millions of miles from the words the boy was spitting at him with such soft, restrained anger. Xander shoved him forcefully down to his knees, and held the gun against his head, hard – trapping it between the weapon and the wall, his arm straightened in a parody of being moments from pulling the trigger…

 

…a parody that he probably thought Spike believed.

 

But he didn’t.

 

*He wouldn’t have to lie – if he really had any power over me,* Spike realized, his breath coming fast and hard with excitement, realization, rather than the terror that Xander only thought he was inspiring in him. *He can hit me – push me down – but that’s *all* he can do – and after a while – you learn how to take those things…*

 

A slow, knowing smile crept over his face, lighting up blue eyes suddenly flecked with gold, as he realized, *…and *I* can do those things, too…nothing stopping me…I’m stronger…I stopped him in Buffy’s room…and I can stop him now…*

 

“Time’s up, Spike,” Xander said softly – obviously expecting him to back down at the ultimate threat, as he quietly clicked the revolver of the weapon in his hand in a mockery of preparation to fire.

 

The vampire took him by surprise, as he suddenly lunged to his feet, shoving the gun – and Xander’s arm – away from him with surprising strength, as he whirled around to face the boy in a ready, fighting stance, his eyes glowing golden with determination, his game face at the fore.

 

And another tiny shred of memory, of his own self, returned to Spike, as a slow smirk spread across his face, and he met the boy’s eyes boldly and replied in a soft, deadly voice.

 

“Bloody right, time’s up!


	51. Chapter 51

Xander’s eyes grew wide and startled, as he staggered backward a couple of steps before righting himself, his disbelieving gaze fastened on the vampire, glaring at him defiantly in full game face.

 

“And *don’t* bloody well touch me!” Spike snarled almost as an after thought, as he stalked swiftly closer to the boy.

 

Xander’s eyes narrowed in outraged fury, and he drew himself up straighter as Spike nearer him. He was a good few inches taller than the blond vampire – but Spike was clearly stronger physically, now that he had healed so much from the injuries Xander had inflicted him. He had been feeding so well lately that even the most recent wounds from the beating Xander had dealt him in Buffy’s room were mostly faded by this point.

 

He could fight back now.

 

But Xander did not seem convinced that he would.

 

“Oh, you’re gonna pay for that, Fangless!” Xander snarled back at him, drawing back the hand that held the gun, as if in preparation to strike him in the face with it again. “You’re gonna be so sorry…”

 

So swiftly that Xander hardly even saw him move, Spike caught his wrist before he could launch the blow, giving it a hard twist that caused the boy to cry out in pain – and drop the empty pistol to the floor.

 

“No, I think you’re the one who’s gonna be dealing with the consequences of your actions, boy,” Spike corrected him, his voice soft and deadly – and holding a threat that Xander had not heard there since long before he had been shot.

 

"*My* actions?" The genuinely incredulous sound to Xander's voice was startling to Spike - as if the deranged boy had still not even registered the sheer wrong of all that he had done. "You're the one who took *everything* from me! Buffy - Anya - heck, even Dawn..." Xander's despairing laugh was full of a bitter irony, as he shook his head sadly. "...they all loved me -- until they met *you*..."

 

"Smart girls," Spike shrugged carelessly. "Your loss." He didn't bother to argue the point, though he was not entirely sure that Xander's words were completely accurate, except perhaps in the case of Dawn.

 

Anya had never truly *loved* him.

 

And – although she had told him she did – at the moment, he wasn't so sure about Buffy, either.

 

Enraged, the boy launched himself at Spike, cutting off the vampire’s self-reflection, and sending him into an automatic fighting reaction that felt natural, although he had not used it in a very, very long time.

 

The few punches Xander managed to land with his free hand felt pitifully weak to Spike, now, without the leverage of his entire body to back them – and Spike wondered at the fear that the boy had managed to instill in him for so long – wondered if he might have been free long before this, had he only had the blood he had needed to heal.

 

His mind was racing with the implications of what was happening – the confirmation that physically, he was much stronger now than the young man who had held him captive for so long – and he pushed aside the innate sense of panic that kept trying to rise up within him, reminding himself of his new revelation.

 

Xander only had as much power over him as he allowed the boy to have.

 

Spike drew back his own fist, slamming it forcefully into Xander’s face – and the boy collapsed to the ground, as Spike released his mangled wrist and allowed him to fall. Xander drew himself back up to his knees, cradling his injured hand in his good one, a strangled, whimpering sound rising from his throat as he did.

 

“The chip,” the boy gasped out, looking up at him with wide eyes. “How can you…the chip…you…”

 

“Funny thing, that,” Spike smirked, his eyes glowing with an unearthly light of triumph. “Seems the bullet that you put through my head – the thing that broke me, made me your bloody plaything for the past few months – also gave me the freedom to make you pay for it.”

 

“The chip…” Xander gasped, his eyes widening as he realized in a moment of clarity exactly what Spike was telling him.

 

“…is gone,” Spike finished for him with a slow nod, his smile widening in triumph as he held the boy’s suddenly fearful gaze.

 

He saw Xander now in a different light than the one he had viewed him with for the past few months. Where before there had been awe and terror and a desperate need to obey, for the sake of his own survival – now, there was only contempt.

 

“Get up.”

 

The boy ignored the softly spoken command for a few seconds, again focused mostly on his injury, as he slowly rocked back and forth, keening softly as he cradled the wounded limb.

 

“I said get up!” Spike snarled, drawing his attention with the threat in his angrily trembling voice.

 

Xander looked up at him, apparently startled by the words. He glanced past Spike to the empty gun that he had held, and then back up to the glowing golden eyes and glistening fangs of the vampire he was facing – a very different creature now from the one he had held captive in the Initiative caves – and a despairing, maniacal sort of giggle rose in his throat.

 

“Why?” he challenged in a high, mad sort of voice. “You’re going to kill me – just do it – just kill me…” He shrugged, laughing aloud as he pointed out, “The tables have turned…you have the power now…so use it. *Kill me*!” The last two words became a roar of mad frustration and anger and a desperate desire for this nightmare of his own making to be over at last.

 

“No,” Spike replied softly, shaking his head as he glared down at the boy in bitter contempt. “You don’t deserve to get off that bloody easy…”

 

Xander stared at him for a long moment, the first trace of real fear that Spike had seen suddenly shining in his eyes. “So you wanna torture me then?” he guessed, his voice lower now, a bit sobered. “You wanna turn the tables? You wanna hurt me like I hurt you?” He laughed bitterly, that crazed sound returning to his voice as he looked back up at Spike with madly glittering eyes. “Doesn’t matter – can’t make it any worse – can’t hurt me any worse than…”

 

“I said *get up*!” Spike cut off his ramblings with a roar of rage, taking a couple of menacing steps toward him

 

Finally, Xander responded to the command, his eyes widening with shock as he met the vampire’s gaze – as if seeing it for the first time.

 

And he slowly climbed to his feet.

 

“I’m not like you,” Spike informed him, his voice softer now, his eyes narrowed in disgust as he looked the boy up and down. “I don’t need my victims on their knees and begging for their bloody lives to get my jollies. Never have. Always have preferred a good fight, to a victim who was chained up and injured and broken and never stood a soddin’ chance to begin with…”

 

He stopped, swallowing back the well of emotion that was rising up in his throat, willing himself not to let the boy see the pain and shame and trauma of his ordeal that still affected him – possibly always would.

 

He shook his head, trying to shake away those thoughts for the moment, as he focused again on Xander’s face – now holding a sort of distant, vacant expression…as if he was only partially there, in that basement room…as if a part of him was already somewhere very far away.

 

“So let’s see how you handle a *fair* fight between me and you,” Spike continued, forcing his old smirk to his face, straightening his stance, his fists balled and ready at his sides. “Let’s see how much damage you can do to someone who can actually fight back!”

 

Xander stared at him, apparently barely comprehending his words, before his jaw set with determination, his body tensing in preparation…

 

…but apparently, for flight rather than fight.

 

The boy took off up the stairs at a scrambling, desperate run.

 

Spike stared after him for a moment in dull disbelief, before rolling his eyes in exasperation and starting off up the stairs after him with a muttered, “Oh…bloody hell!”

 

*****************************

 

By the time Giles was pulling his little red car into the driveway of the Harris’ home, Angel had easily caught up with him, and parked alongside him.

 

The black convertible had barely stopped moving before the Slayer and her sister were both out of the car. Buffy stopped short as her sister started to pass her on the way up the walkway to the front door, taking her by the shoulder and spinning her around to face her.

 

“I do *not* think so!” she declared firmly, her jaw set with determination as she met her younger sister’s defiant gaze. “You need to wait in the car.”

 

“You have *got* to be kidding,” Dawn retorted, her voice low and dubious.

 

“If Xander has a gun – and he’s out of it enough that he shot Anya – I don’t want you anywhere near him…” Buffy began to explain.

 

Dawn shrugged her hand off of her shoulder, interrupting in a tone of firm conviction, “Spike needs me. I’m *not* waiting out here while you guys try to rescue him – if you thought I was going to, you should have left me at home!”

 

With that, she turned and stalked quickly up the walkway again.

 

“Dawn…!”

 

“I’m going – if you wanna get there before I do you’d better hurry,” Dawn threw the words over her shoulder carelessly at her sister as she reached for the front door.

 

Buffy reached to stop her, too late – but the door was locked, preventing Dawn’s entry. The Slayer let out a sigh of relief, even as she peered through the window to the side of the porch, trying to see through the drawn curtains.

 

She knew by now that her sister was not going to give in to her wishes for her not to get involved – but she certainly did not want Dawn to be the first one to rush into what was possibly a hostage situation – and most definitely would turn into a dangerous stand-off.

 

She motioned the others to silence as they approached, listening carefully for any signs of movement or life inside the house. Angel slipped up behind her, one hand resting on her shoulder as he leaned in closer, obviously doing the same. He wanted nothing more than to break the door down and rush to his childe’s rescue – but as he had never had an invitation to the Harris’ home, he was aware that that particular course of action could do more harm than good.

 

“I hear the TV,” he remarked in a low whisper to Buffy. “But that’s it – no voices, or – or anything…”

 

“What about – heartbeats?” Buffy asked hesitantly – her tone making it clear that she really did not even want to ask.

 

Angel’s dark, sober eyes met hers, troubled, as he replied softly, “One…” He nodded vaguely toward the back of the house. “…coming from that direction.”

 

“The basement,” Willow nodded, her eyes wide and fearful. “He wouldn’t have wanted his parents to know he was here, probably, so he’d have sent them to the basement. But – it kind of seems like it doesn’t matter, anyway, since – they’re – obviously not home…”

Her voice trailed off toward the end, as if she was trying to convince herself of her own words, and not quite succeeding.

 

Angel and Buffy exchanged another solemn, apprehensive look, before heading around to the back of the house.

 

Buffy tried to fight back the vague sense of dread she felt building up inside her – tried to keep her mind from dwelling on what might be the cause of it; but she knew that if the Harrises had simply gone out for the evening – something that they almost never did, anyway – they would not have left their living room lights and television on.

 

And Angel had only heard one heartbeat in the house.

 

“You’re gonna have to leave this one to me,” Buffy whispered tersely to the dark vampire as they stopped outside the double wooden doors leading down to the Harris’ basement from the backyard. “You can’t get in without an invitation, and I think we might have a hard time getting you one…”

 

Angel nodded grimly, not pleased with her words, but knowing that they were true.

 

“Stay behind me,” the Slayer instructed the rest of the group, a little louder, before reaching down to test the basement doors – and finding them, to her relief, unlocked.

 

She knew that they would not have much in the way of the element of surprise as it was – since most likely, Xander and Spike would be in the basement –  but she did not want to have to break through the doors, and thereby alert anyone else who might be anywhere in the house at that moment to their presence.

 

*Don’t wanna freak out Mr. and Mrs. Harris…* she thought almost automatically, biting her lower lip as she reminded herself of what Angel had told her.

 

*…if they’re even in there…*

 

*…if they’re even…*

 

The room was empty – but the door leading to the kitchen upstairs was open, flooding the stairs with light.

 

Buffy held up a hand to caution the others to silence, as she made her way quietly up the stairs. She was almost at the top, followed by the rest of the group, when she heard Angel’s quiet, cautious voice – from much nearer than he should have been.

 

“Um…Buffy…?”

 

She turned slowly – to see him standing in the middle of the basement room, staring up at her with a sorrowful resignation in his eyes.

 

There were a few moments of weighted silence, as they all gradually took in the impact, the meaning, of the fact that Angel had been able to get into the house. The Watcher seemed sobered, but still calm; while the vengeance demon at his side shook her head slowly, her face crumpling in painful denial, as he automatically put his arm around her in a comforting gesture.

 

Dawn and Buffy both just stood there on the stairs in shock, their minds trying to process the hideous, horrifying truth.

 

Mr. and Mrs. Harris were dead – moments after Xander had teleported into this house…with a gun.

 

“No,” Willow whispered, her voice trembling as she stared at Angel, shaking her head and backing up the stairs until she ran into Buffy. “No…he couldn’t…”

 

“Willow…” Buffy began cautiously, trying to calm her.

 

“*No*!” Willow cried out, turning bewildered, pain-filled eyes on the Slayer, before suddenly pushing past her and rushing the rest of the way up the stairs. “*Xander*!”

 

“Willow!” Buffy cried out – the element of surprise lost, now, only concerned about the safety of those dear to her who were not yet lost to her for good. “Willow, wait!”

 

Her pursuit of her friend was cut short, as she nearly ran into the back of the redheaded witch – who now stood in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room, staring in shock at the horrifying scene before her.

 

Buffy froze behind her, as she saw the wreckage of the living room – the still, lifeless bodies of Xander’s parents – and the boy she had once called a friend, and the vampire she had refused to call her lover, locked in a life-or-death struggle in the center of the room.

 

“Oh, Xander…”

 

The Slayer’s attention was momentarily drawn to the witch at her side – and she froze, her stomach flipping over inside her as she saw her green eyes flickering back and forth between their ordinary emerald color, and the black of midnight…as her voice was filled with a grief that Buffy had not heard there in a very long time – not since Willow had lost Tara.

 

“Oh, Xander,” Willow’s voice trembled with tears – as the room seemed to tremble with her pain. “Xander, what have you done?”


	52. Chapter 52

Spike took off up the stairs after the retreating boy, frustrated and annoyed at having his well-deserved vengeance interrupted by Xander’s cowardice and refusal to face the consequences of his actions.

 

He frowned in confusion as he came to the top of the stairs, and saw the boy kneeling on the floor beside the fallen form of his father, apparently attempting to pry something from his closed, semi-rigid fist. Spike’s eyes widened with a sudden flash of recognition and understanding as Xander managed to get the tiny object – a key – and he remembered the words he had overheard from upstairs just a little while earlier.

 

*Lock the basement door…I’m going to get my gun…*

 

As Xander rose to his feet, his eyes locked momentarily with the blue gaze of the vampire, before he turned and tore across the living room toward a small endtable with a tiny, locking drawer.

 

Xander’s father had never made it to his weapon – but now, Xander intended to use that weapon against Spike.

 

Spike reached him just as he was pulling the drawer open, but before he could actually pick up the weapon inside, barreling into him and throwing him to the ground under him with all his strength – knocking the breath from Xander’s body…and the drawer out of the endtable and to the floor, leaving the sought-after pistol well within reach of both, but unnoticed by either of them at the moment.

 

Xander struggled beneath the vampire who held him pinned for the moment, yelling and cursing and generally spouting the madness of furious, useless threats which at the moment he had no power to carry out.

 

“I’ll kill you, Spike! I’ll make it take *months*! You’re gonna be sorry you touched me, Spike, I’m gonna *kill you*!” he snarled, his voice trembling and out of control with rage.

 

“Yeah – first you’ve gotta get up, though – don’t you?” Spike smirked, driving a powerful fist into the small of Xander’s back.

 

His body went rigid, arching back as he let out a strangled gasp of pain – pain that was intensified as Spike grabbed a thick handful of the boy’s dark, disheveled hair and yanked his head backward, leaning forward to sneer in his face with bitter triumph, “How do *you* bloody like it, you sadistic sod? How does it feel to be helpless for once?”

 

“We both know *you* know what it’s like,” Xander retorted through teeth gritted against the pain, a cold, defiant smile on his face, “helpless…blind and dumb and unable to move unless I let you – unable to do anything to defend yourself – nothing but pain and dark and punishment for all the evil you’ve done – and don’t you dare forget what it’s like, Spike – because you’re gonna be that way again – and I’ll *never* let you go this time!”

 

Although the words were just another sign of the boy’s insanity – bold, boastful threats spoken while he was helpless at his enemy’s hands – the mad conviction of his tone, the intensity of Xander’s obvious desire to make those words reality, was deeply unsettling to Spike, as he closed his eyes for a moment, swallowing hard as he fought back the images that assailed him.

 

Against his wishes, his mind was filled with vivid memories – most dark echoes of sound, from the long time in which he had been blind – in which Xander’s threats had been anything but ineffectual; memories of a time in which the boy had promised suffering and anguish and destruction – and then had proceeded to bring those horrors to pass.

 

Xander took advantage of Spike’s momentary distraction to reach out his hand beside where he lay on the floor, feeling blindly until it came into contact with the object he sought – the pistol.

 

The roar of the weapon firing – the tearing, hot pain as the bullet tore through his shoulder, drew Spike’s attention agonizingly back to the present situation, as he let out a snarl of fury and pain, rising up off of Xander enough to reach around with his good hand, gripping the boy’s wrist and slamming it against the floor – shattering the bone, and forcing the pistol from his hand.

 

Xander let out a sound that was halfway between a moan and a whimper of pain, crumpling up on the floor, rocking his injured wrist, as Spike rose to his feet, one hand covering the bleeding wound on his shoulder as he tried to quickly decide how serious it was.

 

Fortunately, it seemed to be nothing more than a minor flesh wound; the bullet had missed the bone, and gone straight through the outer flesh of his shoulder, leaving a wound that was little more than a scratch.

 

Xander’s eyes widened as he realized that Spike was up, and he scrambled on his one good hand to right himself, to get up and make some attempt to defend himself.

 

Spike was having none of it.

 

“What?” he demanded mockingly. “You never had a problem kicking *me* while I was already bloody down! Why should you expect any different you little wanker? It’s only fair for you to get what you gave out…”

 

A sharp kick to Xander’s ribcage sent the boy sprawling to the floor again – and several more in quick succession kept him down, as the vampire proceeded to pummel the young man with his fists, his feet – pouring out all the helpless rage that had been repressed within him from the moment Xander had made him his personal victim upon whom to vent his frustrations.

 

“Y-you said – fair fight,” the boy gasped out, clearly terrified, apparently for the first time, actually afraid for his life.

 

Spike let out a bitter laugh of harsh surprise at his words. “Funny, Whelp,” he remarked with an ironic smile and a shake of his head, before lighting into the boy again with all his strength. “Feels bloody fair to me!”

 

When Xander was finally too weakened by the beating to show any sign of a fight, Spike went down to the floor beside him, baring his fangs as he grabbed the boy by his shirt collar and yanked him up close to his face in preparation for the death blow.

 

Xander’s eyes went wide with fear as he realized what Spike was about to do – and he let out a sharp cry of pain as the vampire’s fangs sank into his throat, pulling hard and viciously at his blood, taking no care to spare him any suffering.

 

“Stop – please…” the boy moaned in pain, holding up his good hand in a gesture for mercy.

 

Spike had been shown no mercy – and therefore felt the need to show none.

 

But in that moment – something *did* momentarily stop his assault.

 

Spike drew back his fangs, golden eyes staring at the floor around him as it began to tremble – and in his surveying of the room, his eyes fell with surprise upon the little group standing near the doorway. The intensity of his encounter with his former abuser had kept him from even noticing their presence in the room.

 

The first one he noticed – of course – was Buffy – and as his eyes found her, his heart was smitten with a strange combination of longing…and pain. He felt fresh tears spring to his eyes, as he remembered now, with the insight of his returned memories, how she had told him that she loved him – and how she had then proceeded to prove to him how little that love really meant to her.

 

But – she was not looking at him, did not even really seem aware of him at the moment.

 

She was looking at the witch.

 

And when Spike saw the expression on her face – his heart leapt up into his throat, and his eyes widened with shocked apprehension.

 

Spike had been chained up in the Initiative caves already when Willow had gone on her killing, destructive rampage in the wake of Tara’s death; so he had not seen the little red-headed witch in the height of her grief-inspired rage – and did not recognize this as the beginnings of the same thing.

 

But he *did* recognize power – and rage.

 

And as the furniture around them began to rumble with the shaking of the floor, and something glass nearby fell to the floor and shattered -- Spike recognized that the danger in this moment went far beyond what was happening between him and Xander.

 

*Bloody hell,* he thought with a sense of mingled awe and fear. *She’ll kill us all.*

 

*********************************

 

There was barely time for Buffy to register anything about the scene in the living room, though it all seemed to leap out at her in vivid, horrific detail – before she felt the floor begin to tremble beneath her, and saw the dark, terrible fury in her best friend’s eyes.

 

“Willow – Willow, look at me!” she ordered sharply, though her own voice was shaking with fear.

 

The red-headed witch ignored her, glaring down at the dark-haired young man, barely conscious now, and the blond vampire crouched over him, staring up at her warily.

 

“You,” she snarled in a voice that was lower, darker, than her own. “How could you do this? How could you – you’ve ruined everything!”

 

“Willow, it’s not his fault!” Dawn protested, rushing forward toward her, though Buffy’s arm held her back, determined that this time, she would win the contest of wills between her and her sister – for her sister’s sake. “Willow, leave him alone!”

 

It was as if she had not even spoken.

 

“The funny thing is, I *trusted* you! I actually thought that you wouldn’t do anything to hurt any of us!” Willow laughed bitterly. “Can you believe that? Poor little naïve, gullible Willow. Way too trusting.” She shook her head, a cold, dead sort of smile on her face.

 

“Willow – he didn’t. He hasn’t hurt anyone…any more than to defend himself, you have to see that!” Buffy protested, her voice low and earnest as she moved to stand in front of her friend, between Willow and Spike. “Please, you have to stop for a minute and listen…”

 

“Get back, Buffy,” Willow ordered harshly, pushing her friend out of her path and against the wall without touching her, with a simple wave of her arm.

 

Buffy winced as she felt her body moving, not of her own accord – but released a deep breath of relief when she realized that her friend had not used enough force to actually hurt her.

 

“Willow – Willow, listen to me,” Giles made his attempt, moving forward and catching her shoulder, his jaw set with determination.

 

He had played an integral part in stopping Willow’s rampage the first time – though he was fearfully aware of the fact that it had not been him who had managed to get through to her in the end. The one who had managed to stop her from ending it all, literally, was now lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood, and that of his slain family – in effect dead to them, even if he had not yet taken his last breath.

 

But still – the aging Watcher had to make the attempt.

 

He never got past touching her.

 

The instant that his hand touched her shoulder, apparently with no conscious effort on Willow’s part, a jolt of power similar to the one that had struck Buffy seemed to emanate from her body, sending him flying backward against the wall next to the Slayer.

 

When Angel tried to slip up from the side, Willow was somehow aware of his presence although he had not spoken, and he soon received the same treatment.

 

Dawn would have tried again to stop her – but the force that held Buffy back from hindering Willow apparently did not seem to mind if she touched anyone else – allowing the Slayer to reach forward and restrain the girl before she got hurt…though, Buffy was relieved to notice that Willow had not actually hurt anyone yet.

 

Of course – that looked as if it was about to change.

 

“All of you stay out of this!” the witch commanded harshly without looking at them, her eyes still locked on her singular focal point, near the center of the living room floor. “Everything is under my control.”

 

“No – no, it’s not, Willow!” Anya protested, feeling the need to try to stop her, though she was wise enough not to try to physically stop her, after seeing what had happened to Willow and Giles. Apparently, Willow seemed to sense that she did not intend to touch her, because she did not use the same restraining tactics on the vengeance demon as she had on the others, allowing her to go on speaking.

 

“Don’t you see that that’s the problem? This happened – and there was nothing you could have done to stop it!” Her voice softened as she added from directly behind the girl, “I wish I could have stopped it – wish I’d known what was happening. But that’s the point – none of us could have. This isn’t my fault, or yours, and it’s definitely not Spike’s. It’s Xander’s fault. And hurting Spike’s not going to…”

 

“Who ever said I was going to hurt Spike?” Willow’s low voice rasped out in deadly fury, her eyes narrowing with dangerous intent, as her hand outstretched in preparation to release another jolt of power.

 

As she took a step nearer to Spike and Xander, and her friends behind her took in the impact of what she had just said, Xander finally began to come around, his head rolling to the side with a moan as his eyes blinked open and stared up at blankly.

 

“Willow?” he mumbled, a hopeful note to his voice.

 

Then, suddenly, his bleary eyes widened, as he recognized the dark, frightening version of his friend that he had had to talk down from ending the world just a few short months earlier.

 

His voice held a note of fear and uncertainty as he repeated with a trembling urgency, “Willow…wait…”

 

“Don’t worry, Xander,” she smirked down at him, her black eyes cold and deadly. “I’ve learned a lot while I was away. I know better than to think I can save the world by ending it. Hey, I know better than to think I can save the world at all.” She paused, her smile fading slightly as she continued, “But I *can* make it just a little bit safer for some of us – for those of us who were stupid enough to trust you. I can see what you are now, Xander. I can see how black your heart is – inside.”

 

The room began to shake harder around them – and then gradually fell silent, as she paused to draw in a deep breath, and regain control of her emotions.

 

“I don’t have to end the world, Xander,” Willow concluded in a soft, chilling voice. “I just have to end you.”


	53. Chapter 53

  
  


For a few shocked, silent moments, it seemed that Willow’s words had caught everyone in the room completely off guard.

 

Every one of them had expected that her anger, her threats, had been directed at the vampire who was still hovering over her best friend, still in game face, his fangs still stained with the blood he had taken from his throat.

 

To find that her rage was actually directed at Xander was stunning to them all.

 

“Do it.”

 

The softly spoken words were chilling to the heart of the Slayer, who still stood pinned to the wall by the force of Willow’s magic – and though she could not see her face, her eyes widened on the back of her sister’s head, where she still held her in front of her, holding her back from going any closer to the enraged witch.

 

“Dawnie…” she gasped, stunned by the cold words, though she could not say that she was really all that surprised.

 

Dawn’s hatred for Xander had grown up swiftly, only during the past two days, but it was a fiery, vengeful storm, consuming the past love she had had for the boy, until all she wanted now was to see him pay for the damage he had wrought in her best friend’s life.

 

Willow slowly turned her head toward the youngest Summers, no expression visible in her black eyes, but her lips turned up slightly in a smile of surprise. “He deserves it, doesn’t he, Dawnie?” she mused thoughtfully, turning her eyes back toward Xander as she spoke.

 

“Dawn…” Buffy tried again to stop her, having a very bad feeling about Willow’s drawing Dawn further into this.

 

“Yes, he does!” Dawn spat the words out with a defiant glare over her shoulder at her sister. “He deserves to die for what he did to Spike!”

 

“What he did to all of us,” Willow corrected softly, her smile fading, her expression becoming sad, taking on a strangely dreamy quality, as she waved her hand idly over her shoulder.

 

Suddenly, Buffy found her restraining hands on Dawn’s arms flung down at her sides, again without the violence it would have required to actually hurt her – but allowing Dawn to move forward to Willow’s side, as the witch silently beckoned her.

 

It appeared that the girl was moving of her own free will – but then, with Willow in the state she was in, there was no way to be sure.

 

Xander had fully regained consciousness now, though he was still too weak to move much. As he struggled to raise his body up on his arms, Spike cautiously moved away from him, his wary eyes moving between the face of the witch, and of his best friend now standing beside her.

 

At the moment, he was pretty sure it was a very bad idea to be anywhere near Xander.

 

“Willow – Dawn – don’t do this!” Buffy cried out, her voice trembling with frustrated fear and desperate anger, as she struggled against the invisible force that held her back.

 

“Willow, this isn’t the way.” Giles felt the need to back up his Slayer, though at this point he was not quite sure himself what the boy *did* deserve.

 

What he *did* know was that if Willow killed Xander – nothing could ever be made right again.

 

Neither Buffy nor Giles seemed to notice that no one else in the room was offering any protest to what was happening.

 

Angel’s face bore a grim expression of resolve, making it clear that unless Willow directly threatened his childe, or any of the other relative innocents in the room, he would not have any problem with whatever she might choose to do to Xander.

 

As for Anya, although she had spent nearly the whole of her human existence – and a good deal of her time afterward, for that matter – loving the young man who now lay wounded and broken on the floor; she knew vengeance better than she knew everything – and she knew that at this point, Xander deserved whatever ended up coming to him.

 

“But there really is no right way at this point – is there?” Willow shook her head with a sad, empty sort of smile. “No way to fix what he’s done…nothing left to do now – but to punish him…”

 

“Willow – what gives you the right to punish him?” Buffy pointed out, her voice higher than usual, desperate and shaking with emotion. “We can still fix this! If you let this go now, we can still find a way to…”

 

Her voice trailed off suddenly – when her eyes locked across the room with the wide, crystal blue gaze of the vampire crouched on the floor, several yards away from Xander. The expression on his face stopped her cold, her heart smitten within her by the pain, the betrayal in his eyes. What he was feeling was painfully clear.

 

Hearing her speaking up in Xander’s defense was killing him.

 

Except – she wasn’t *really* defending Xander.

 

She was as angry with Xander as anyone – knew that her friend deserved to pay for what he had done to Spike. But at the same time, she was not sure that she was the one to mete out that punishment; certainly she was sure that Willow was not that one, either. Xander had been an integral part of their little group for so long now – it was almost unthinkable to think of his no longer being there, no longer even being *alive*…

 

…no matter how much he might deserve death.

 

“No, Buffy,” Willow continued, her voice still chillingly calm, as she extended a hand toward her friend in preparation to strike, blue arcs of energy sparking between her fingertips, as her eyes narrowed in anger and wounded rage. “Don’t you see? This can’t be fixed. How could this ever be fixed?”

 

All were silent, waiting for her to go on, as she silently surveyed her friend – now alert, staring up at her in wide-eyed terror, but not daring to move.

 

“What should I do to him, Dawnie?” Willow asked softly, a cruel smile turning up the corners of her mouth. “You seem like a girl with a plan – if you only had the means to carry it out. Well – now you do.” Her dark, frightening eyes met Dawn’s for a moment as she asked again, “What should I do to him?”

 

Dawn’s eyes widened momentarily, startled by what Willow was offering – and then narrowed again in anger, her jaw setting as she looked back toward Xander with cold, pitiless eyes.

 

“He needs to suffer,” she said in a voice that was barely over a whisper. “He needs to hurt like he hurt Spike. He needs to hurt until he *begs* for it to stop – and then he needs to hurt some more.”

 

Willow released a cold, vicious laugh, throwing her head back slightly before focusing her eyes on her former friend again.

 

“Now *there’s* a plan,” she smirked, as she extended a hand toward her fallen friend, sending a tremendous bolt of electrical power from her fingertips, directly into his chest.

 

Xander let out a terrible, wrenching scream of agony, as his body arched up off the floor in agony, until Willow finally released him from the grip of her power, allowing him to collapse to the floor again.

 

“Willow,” he croaked out in a hoarse, painful whisper. “Willow – please…”

 

Willow was still not addressing him. “Is that enough, Dawnie?” she asked softly.

 

Dawn’s eyes were wide, horrified by what she had seen – and yet flooded with angry tears, her jaw working with indecision, before she shook her head, whispering out in a tearful voice, “No…no, it’s not…it’s nowhere near enough for what he did…”

 

“Willow, no…don’t do this…don’t do this to *Dawnie*…” Buffy sobbed, broken-hearted by the sight of the emotional ordeal her sister was going through, more than by the pain Xander was experiencing.

 

Willow was not listening, as she struck her friend again, and he writhed on the floor, moaning in agony, screams torn from his body by the terrible pain she was inflicting.

 

This time, Dawn looked away, her eyes scrunched shut, her hand raised to block her eyes.

 

“Enough?” Willow persisted, her voice hard and unyielding, relishing the power and the vengeance she was wreaking.

 

Dawn’s voice was a broken sob, and she could not look at Willow, at Xander, at anyone, as she crossed her arms protectively over her chest, whimpering out, “It’s not…it won’t ever be…oh, God, Willow, stop…I can’t…”

 

“Look what you’re doing to her, stop, Willow, *stop*!” Buffy nearly screamed at her friend, straining against the invisible bonds to reach her distraught little sister. “My God, Willow, just leave her out of this!”

 

“Fine!” Willow snapped.

 

Buffy flinched as she waved her hand behind her in the Slayer’s direction – but then shook with relief, when all the magic did was to release her from her bonds. Willow seemed to have sensed that at this point, all Buffy would do with her freedom was to go to her sister, taking her in her arms as she collapsed to her knees on the floor.

 

“God, Buffy, it’s not enough – it won’t ever be enough for what he did – but – but it’s too much, I can’t…I can’t do it…it’s – it’s *Xander*…” Dawn sobbed, as she turned in her sister’s arms.

 

Buffy did not even consider an “I-told-you-so” response, though she knew that her sister now understood her feelings of before.

 

“I know, Dawnie,” she whispered soothingly, holding her close to her. “I know…” Over her sister’s shoulder, she looked anxiously across the room at Spike, who was still standing against the wall, watching Willow carefully for any sign of a threat – though at the moment, her attention was focused completely on Xander.

 

Too bad for Xander.

 

“Willow,” he whimpered fearfully, drawing back up to his knees, staring up at her in bewildered fear. “Willow, please…don’t do this…please…”

 

“We were a whole – all of us. We each had – our place,” Willow went on as if he had not spoken, her voice softening slightly as she expressed the roiling emotions within her, driving her to this place of rage. “You – you were the heart of us, Xander…” Her voice broke slightly, as she shook her head, her features twisting briefly in pain, before she regained control of her feelings enough to continue, “You were *my* heart – when I thought I’d lost it…when I lost…when I lost *everything*…”

 

They were all silent – a thick, heavy, painful silence that was filled with the memory of the one who had been “everything” to Willow.

 

Buffy was surprised to find that her face was streaked with tears.

 

“But now – you knew how dangerous the magic was – you knew that I was out of control – and you – you *used* me!” Willow’s voice sounded lost, disbelieving, barely above a whisper. “You were my best friend – and you lied to me, and you used me, to – to get your petty revenge – revenge you weren’t even owed…”

 

“He – he took…Anya…Bu…everything…” Xander whined the words out pitifully through desperate, terrified tears. “He deserved it – you wouldn’t have understood…”

 

“This is about Anya?” Willow sounded incredulous. “Is that why you shot her? Is *Spike* the reason you killed your own *parents*, Xander?”

 

The boy had no response for those words, as his face went deathly pale, his eyes widening at the impact of the reality she was forcing him to face.

 

“You *killed* them, Xander,” she repeated. “And I know they hurt you – and I know there’s a lot of bad history. God, Xander, if anybody knows, *I know*!” Willow’s voice softened with a distant horror, as she shook her head slowly and added, “But you know there’s no coming back from that.”

 

Xander stared at her with wide, blank eyes for a long moment – before lowering his head and breaking down into sobs. “I’m sorry,” he moaned, with the voice of a guilty child who’s very, very sorry, because he knows that he’s been caught. “I’m so sorry – so so sorry…”

 

“You brought me back, Xander,” Willow whispered, her own voice choked with tears. No one was looking directly at her – so no one noticed the slight flicker of her eyes to emerald green, for just the barest moment, before they returned to the black of midnight, her features hardening with bitter anger as she added in a voice of anguished desperation, “But this time it’s you, Xander – it’s you who’s taken everything I had left – *you* were everything I had left…”

 

Her voice lowered to a chilling, heart-rending whisper of lost suffering, as she finished, “…and who’s going to bring me back this time?”

 

In that moment, Buffy knew that her entire world was about to collapse around her – again.

 

Willow was too hurt, too lost and confused, to come back from the brink of madness to which Xander’s madness had driven her. Willow was going to kill Xander, and then the loss of the person who meant more than anything to her -- *again* -- was going to drive her to a second destructive rampage, from which she would likely not return on her own – and from which none of them would be able to bring her back.

 

It was all about to be over, Buffy realized with a sense of rising anguish and despair.

 

*And it’s all going to be my fault…*

 

**********************************

 

Spike watched the painful scene unfold around him, his mind racing as he tried to think of a way to keep it from ending in the way it was beginning to appear that it inevitably would.

 

There *had* to be a way to stop Willow, before she did something that would destroy her – destroy them all.

 

Spike’s recent memories of Xander were of nothing but trauma and suffering – but he *did* have other memories of the boy, now…memories of all of them; and he knew, now, how deeply Willow cared for Xander, really – and how terribly her own murder of him would devastate her after it was done.

 

He could only imagine what horrors the emotionally distraught witch would create once she had killed her friend – and once she had realized what she had done.

 

They would all die.

 

Buffy…Dawn…Anya…

 

Willow would kill them all.

 

It was a difficult concept to accept, all things considered – especially his desperate desire to see Xander punished for the horrible abuses he had committed against him.

 

But – if Willow killed Xander…they would *all* die.

 

To save any of them – he might have to save *Xander*.

 

Spike had never been one for careful planning, or over-analyzing situations, or looking before he leapt.

 

He had always been a vampire of reckless action – and he still was.

 

And as he watched the witch draw back her hand in preparation to strike the killing blow – there was only one line of action that occurred to him…so that was the action that he took.

 

As the arc of power launched from Willow’s palm, heading straight and true toward the heart of her former best friend, destined to stop it forever…

 

…with no heed for anything but saving the lives of his loved ones – Spike leapt directly into its path.


	54. Chapter 54

“No!” Angel shouted out in a voice of anguished fear, as he plunged forward toward the fallen vampire.  
  
At the exact same moment, Buffy cried out, “*Spike*!” and left her sister’s side to rush to his aid.  
  
Willow did not make any attempt to stop either of them, her impossibly dark eyes going wide with surprise, when she realized that her bolt of fury had hit the wrong target. She shook her head slowly, in confused disbelief, as the Slayer and her former vampire lover hovered over the unconscious blond where he had fallen, his body draped limply over the trembling form of his former tormentor.  
  
As Buffy and Angel lifted Spike’s still body between them, moving him off to the side of the room, Xander scrambled backwards against the wall, his eyes wide and darting with terror and bewilderment between the vampire who had inexplicably taken the death blow for him – and his best friend, who might quite possibly be preparing to deliver a second one.  
  
“Not dust,” Buffy muttered under her breath as she smoothed Spike’s hair back from his slack forehead, alarmed at the strange heat she felt emanating from his smooth flesh. “He’s not dust…he’s not dust…”  
  
*As long as he’s not dust…he’s not dead…he’s not dead…he’s gonna be okay…he’s gonna be okay…*  
  
Angel glanced up at her with dark, serious eyes from where he knelt at his childe’s side, before looking anxiously up toward Willow, wondering if she posed any further threat to Spike’s safety. He was fairly certain that she did not, as she had not intended to hit Spike to begin with – but one could never be sure when these sorts of dark magics were involved.  
  
Willow was still staring at the little scene taking place before her, apparently trying to make it make sense with what she knew of the situation.  
  
She couldn’t.  
  
“I – I don’t understand,” she said, her voice quieter now, and uncertain. “Why would he – after…”  
  
In her surprise, Willow had allowed the restraints holding the others back to fall away, and now, the Watcher cautiously made his way to her side, his own eyes wide and wondering at what he had just seen – and yet, shining with a sort of awe as it gradually began to come together for him.  
  
“Because he knew what it would do to you, Willow,” he supplied softly, catching the witch’s black gaze. “He knew the damage it would do to you, to take the life of your very best friend – and he knew that in the end, that damage would destroy not only you – but everyone around you…”  
  
Dawn had stayed where she was, on her knees on the floor, staring with wide, stricken eyes as her sister and Angel worked to revive her own best friend. She did not seem to have the strength to move or speak – but as she listened to the Watcher’s words, she suddenly seemed to regain it.  
  
Her eyes narrowed as she rose slowly to her feet and continued the statement Giles had allowed to trail off.  
  
“…and he chose to give *himself* up instead of letting the rest of us all die. Even though – even though half the people in this room don’t seem to care very much *what* happens to *him*…”   
  
Her voice was soft, tearful, but void of the blind fury that had filled it before – before she had experienced first hand the dilemma of indecision that had held her sister in its clutches since their first suspicion of Xander as the guilty party.  
  
Buffy’s startled eyes looked up at her sister, as she suddenly realized the true reason for Spike’s unexpected actions, and looked back down with wonder at his still face, ironically more peaceful now, at rest, than she had seen it since she had found him in the Initiative caves.  
  
A fleeting thought crossed her mind, chilling her blood.  
  
*Oh, God, what if he wants this? I didn’t keep him safe – he was always afraid – what if this is what he *wants*? Just to – to be free of it?*  
  
“Oh, Spike,” she whispered, her eyes welling with desperate, fearful tears. “I’m so sorry…don’t leave me, Sweetie…please wake up…”  
  
As if in response to her soft, desperate plea, Spike’s eyes slowly drifted open, his head rolling slightly from side to side as he gradually began to regain consciousness. He blinked a few times, as his wide blue eyes slowly came into focus – on the Slayer who was openly weeping with relief.  
  
“Buffy…” he whispered uncertainly, frowning when he saw her crumpled face, smelled the warm salt of her tears. “Buffy, love…”  
  
“Stupid vampire.”  
  
Willow’s cold, derisive words suddenly drew all of their attention, as Buffy looked up at her apprehensively, shaking her head in a silently pleading gesture. Angel, who was half-standing already, rose fully to his feet and moved bravely between the witch and his wounded childe.  
  
Willow just sneered at him, rolling her eyes at his attempt.  
  
“Please,” she smirked. “If Spike was who I was after – don’t think *you* could stop me.”  
  
Her dark eyes focused once more on her former best friend, with a lazy, cruel smile – and Xander let out a very unmanly whimper as he scuttled back against the wall, shaking his head frantically, wide chocolate brown eyes staring at her with wild terror.  
  
“Willow – Willow, please…” he sobbed. “Don’t hurt me, Willow…I’m your friend…please!”  
  
“Why not? You didn’t have any problem hurting *me*…so apparently our precious friendship didn’t mean all that much to you, either!” she pointed out, eyebrows raised as she waited for a response from him that she obviously did not expect to change her mind.  
  
“I – I don’t understand – I didn’t h-hurt you, Willow…the only one I hurt was – S-Spike…” Xander protested, his voice high and breaking in the middle as he struggled to defend his actions. “…and he deserved it! He’s just a vampire, Willow…!”  
  
“Just a vampire,” she echoed skeptically. “Yeah – ‘just a vampire’ that happens to mean a lot to Buffy – and Dawn – and, well, pretty much all of us in one way or another. You know he *has* helped save the world a couple of times – and saved *your* life more than once, if I recall…”  
  
She paused, her smile hardening, losing its humor, as she added, “But somehow that didn’t seem to matter to you. To get revenge on him, you were willing to hurt Buffy and Dawn – to *lie* to me – even to shoot your former fiancée – just to get back at Spike for taking what wasn’t yours to begin with!”  
  
The blond vampire’s eyes widened with surprise, as the Slayer cautiously helped him to sit up, keeping her eyes focused warily on her friend, still watchful for any sign of a threat. Spike was still just trying to process the fact that the witch was speaking up in his defense.  
  
“But – but Anya *was* mine!” Xander protested. “And if Spike would have left well enough alone…”  
  
“Shut up!” Willow snarled, with a wave of her hand in his general direction that left a smooth, flat surface on his face where his mouth had been. As Xander’s eyes widened with panic, and his strangled cries struggled to escape his throat where they were trapped, she went on softly, “You dumped Anya – and *Buffy* -- was never yours! That kind of – possessive, power-mad thinking – behavior – is very dangerous, Xander.”  
  
She paused, her smile taking on a distant, ironic sort of look, staring off into space, as she added in a voice just barely over a whisper, “I should know.”   
  
A cold, apprehensive chill went down Spike’s back, as he imagined the destruction that was going to take place in the next few minutes, if Willow could not be stopped from this deadly course of action. He had tried his best to physically stop her, but now it was clear – that was not an option. She could simply strike down every last person in her way – and likely would – before finally destroying the boy…and any hope she might have of ever coming back from this.  
  
Willow’s calm gaze was back on Xander’s face now, as she went on, a hint of bitter laughter in her voice, “Funny – you had to save the world from me once, Xander – and you managed to save *me*, too. And now – I have to save the world from you.”   
  
She frowned thoughtfully for a moment, before shaking her head sadly. “Don’t think I’ll be able to save you, though.”   
  
The group seemed to hold its collective breath as she raised a hand toward Xander, and the boy flinched back against the wall, agonizingly aware that there was no escape.  
  
Buffy opened her mouth as if to speak – and then hesitated, biting her lower lip in frustration. She wanted to do her best to convince her friend not to do this, but was afraid of drawing Willow’s attention back in Spike’s direction.  
  
Much to her surprise – Dawn spoke up instead.  
  
“Willow – Willow, wait a second…please listen to me…”  
  
Willow did not turn around – but she did not release the killing jolt of power from her hand, either. Her eyebrows rose in surprise, a little smirk playing about her lips, as she stood there for a moment in indecision, before sighing impatiently.  
  
“What is it, Dawnie? Don’t tell me you’ve changed your mind.”  
  
“I – I haven’t,” Dawn denied it, shaking her head emphatically as she moved on trembling legs to stand directly in front of Willow. “Xander deserves to die. I know that. He’s committed murder – and torture, and lots of other horrible things that I don’t even know the names for…” Her voice softened as she cast a sorrowful glance behind her at her best friend, thinking of the terrible emotional and physical trauma that Xander had put him through.  
  
Her jaw set with determination, she turned her eyes back to Willow, bravely holding her dark, frightening gaze. “But -- *you* don’t deserve to kill him, Willow.”  
  
“Yeah, well, too bad. Try and stop me,” Willow muttered, her arm straightening as she stepped to the side so as to aim around Dawn’s slender frame.  
  
“Wait! That’s not what I meant!” Dawn protested hurriedly, moving with her so that she was still in her path.  
  
Buffy winced -- *really* not liking Dawn’s position directly in the path of so much deadly magic – but she did not say a word, waiting to hear what her sister would say.  
  
Willow’s head tilted slightly, a puzzled frown on her pursed lips as she looked back at Dawn, waiting.  
  
“You don’t deserve that responsibility, Willow,” Dawn clarified her former words. “You don’t deserve to have to – to carry that around for the rest of your life.” She paused, her wide blue eyes searching Willow’s beseechingly. “He might be beyond hope – but you’re not. You’ve already come back once – that means you’re stronger than this - *better* than this, Willow! Xander’s destroyed every part of his life already – but you don’t have to destroy yours.”  
  
Willow stared at her for a long moment, her expression even and appraising. Then, her face cracked into a wicked grin, and a cruel giggle escaped her throat.  
  
“That was very moving, Dawnie, really,” she replied in a mildly patronizing voice. “But you know – not quite moving enough. And if you get in my way again,” she continued without pause, a chilling smile on her face as she met the younger girl’s eyes, “I just might have to move *you*.”  
  
Dawn’s eyes widened with alarm as Willow moved to the side again, taking aim at the cringing, silently sobbing Xander.  
  
Buffy looked with alarm at Spike, as he pulled awkwardly out of her supporting arms, and struggled to his feet, lurching slightly as he came to stand directly in front of Xander again.  
  
She gasped with fear when she realized what he intended. “Spike – what are you…?”  
  
“I can’t let you do it, Red,” the blond vampire declared quietly, meeting her eyes intently. “Can’t let you destroy everybody else’s lives along with *this* bloody piece of trash!”  
  
Willow’s eyes narrowed dangerously; she was ceasing to be amused by the constant interruptions.   
  
“Get out of my way.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Willow blinked in astonishment at the nerve of the injured vampire, doing a slight double take. “Excuse me?”  
  
“No, Willow,” he repeated, deliberately using her given name. “Because you might not see it now – but you will. If you kill Xander, it might not hit you right away. Might not hit you for weeks – but when it does…all bloody hell’s gonna break loose. You’ll go on another bloody end-of-the-world rampage – and there won’t be anyone to stop you…”  
  
“No, I won’t,” Willow argued, her voice trembling slightly, despite its sharpness. “I’ll keep it under control this time…”  
  
“When you first realize the one who means more to you than anyone in the world is dead,” Spike cut her off, shaking his head, his jaw working with emotion, “no such thing as ‘control’, Red.”  
  
There was a moment of silence, as Willow closed her dark eyes, willing away the images that flooded her mind unbidden – images of someone who had been her entire world…someone who would never want her to do the things she was doing right now…  
  
“I don’t know about anybody else,” Spike continued softly. “But I care too much about everybody *else* in this room – to let you kill *Xander*.”  
  
Buffy watched him, awed at his wisdom and sacrifice, swallowing back a lump of warmth and emotion that rose up in her throat.  
  
*God, I don’t deserve him…*  
  
She didn’t even realize she had moved, until she was standing at Spike’s side, between Willow and Xander, clasping the vampire’s hand tightly in her own. No words were necessary – it was perfectly clear that she was seconding his words, telling Willow that she would have to strike *her* down, too, before getting to Xander.  
  
One by one – more out of respect for the amazing move that Spike had just made than out of actual concern for Xander’s life – the rest of the group made their way to join the Slayer and the vampire, bravely facing the angry witch, whose anger was really just born of her tremendous hurt at her friend’s betrayal.  
  
Willow’s “resolve face” visibly wavered at the sight of the group, assembled against her desires to take down her former friend.   
  
“I – I don’t want to hurt you, Buffy – Dawn – any of you. Just – just let me do this, and…”  
  
“Can’t,” Buffy stated firmly. “Won’t.” She paused, swallowing hard as a pained little smile crossed her lips, and tears choked her voice, as she added, “Love you too much.”  
  
“Get. Out. Of. My. *Way*.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Look, I can’t just – I’m not going to just kill you all,” Willow protested, suddenly pleading rather than demanding.  
  
“Yeah,” Dawn agreed with a little smirk. “That’s kind of the idea.”  
  
“Willow,” Giles said softly, his compassion for his protégé obvious in his voice, “just let it go, dear…this is not for you to do…”  
  
Willow swallowed hard, looking away – clearly moved by the dramatic show of solidarity among the group, and of their love for each other…and for her. Buffy’s heart leapt with hope, as she watched those black eyes flicker back and forth momentarily, black to green, and back again.  
  
And finally – just to green.  
  
Willow was perfectly silent for a long moment, before tears began to streak her face – and in the next moment, she had collapsed to her knees, sobbing softly. “How could he…I mean…he just…Xander…” she choked out the words, gasping for breath, overwhelmed with her hurt.  
  
Buffy’s expression softened as she made her way to her friend, crouching beside her to take her into her arms and offer her wordless comfort. As the others slowly made their way to her, Spike hung back awkwardly, unsure as to whether or not he would be really welcome. After all – he and Willow had never been overly close; and now, he was not sure how exactly she saw his part in all of this.  
  
A soft, manic giggle behind him drew Spike’s attention, and he turned warily to see Xander looking up at him with a wild gleam in his eyes.  
  
The spell binding his mouth had melted away with the rage that had driven Willow to cast it.  
  
“You win,” the boy mumbled, before erupting into another crazed giggle. “You win, Spike…”  
  
Spike eyed him cautiously, unsure what to expect from him at this point. He was clearly no longer a threat physically – but it had not been all that long since he *had* been.   
  
“Come again?” he asked slowly, warily.  
  
“Bet this must just be the ultimate revenge for you, huh, Spike?” Xander went on, his voice a low rasp, just over a whisper, and not having drawn the attention of the others just yet, though Spike could clearly hear it. “Must be just so satisfying for you…”  
  
“What?” Spike asked, frowning, troubled by the boy’s manner, as well as by the fact that he had no idea what Xander was talking about.  
  
Xander’s expression became lost, anguished, as he shook his head and whispered, “*You* -- saved *my* life – from my best friend. After – everything – it was *you* that kept her from killing me – kept her from killing all of them.” He paused, choking back a sob, his eyes shining with pain as he added, “I’m the monster that almost ended the world again – and you’re the hero who saved it.”  
  
Another wild laugh left his throat before he added in a trembling, manic voice, “You’ve got them all – Buffy – Anya – my friends, even *Willow* -- they’ll all see you as the hero – you don’t have to kill me – because I might as well be dead to them now…it’s all over…”  
  
His eyes grew distant, hollow, as he added softly, shaking his head, “All of them – standing between me and death – but – but they were doing it for *you*…”  
  
Spike swallowed hard, his expression serious and thoughtful, as he took in the grain of truth in the boy’s manic ramblings.  
  
He supposed, for Xander, that must be about the worst end result he could have imagined.  
  
“Only one way to win,” Xander muttered under his breath, his head lolling back against the wall, his eyes closed. “Only one way out…”  
  
A soft gasp from across the room drew Spike’s attention – and he followed Buffy’s horrified gaze back to Xander, to see him now up on his knees…  
  
…the discarded pistol in his hand.  
  
“Only one way…only one way…” he ranted, his eyes darting wildly between Spike and the others, who gradually became aware of the disturbing situation.  
  
“Xander – Xander, don’t,” Buffy begged him, her voice trembling as she rose to her feet.  
  
She knew that Xander could shoot Spike again before she could ever reach either of them.  
  
“It’s the only way, Buffy,” the boy whispered, shaking his head in despair. “Gotta make it – right. Gotta – make it over. Gotta – gotta – it’s the only way…”  
  
“Xander, hurting Spike again isn’t going to fix anything!” Buffy insisted, taking a couple of cautious steps toward them.  
  
Spike hadn’t dared move, watching the boy carefully.  
  
Xander’s bitter laughter filled the tense silence of the room again, and he looked at Spike with a cold, ironic smile, as he shook his head. “See?” he asked. “You win – like I said, you win. It’s you – not me – you…you she…she cares about…you she loves…you win…”  
  
Suddenly, Spike’s heart lurched within him, his eyes widening as he realized the boy’s true intentions.  
  
“No,” he said quietly – scarcely able to believe the word had come from his own mouth. “Xander, no – it’s not the way…”  
  
Buffy frowned up at Spike in confusion, before she looked back at Xander – and her eyes widened in horror, her mouth opening into a scream that never found its voice – not until it was over.  
  
As they watched in helpless horror, the boy’s gun arm straightened, momentarily aiming at Spike – but only in an arc, as his hand turned, bringing the gun up toward his own mouth.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, dark eyes full of madness and agony locking onto crystal blue for the briefest of instants – before he placed the muzzle of the weapon in his mouth, and pulled the trigger.


	55. Chapter 55

  
  


The deafening blast of the pistol was followed by an equally deafening silence, as the shock slowly made its way through each of the minds of the observers to Xander’s desperate act.

 

And then – everyone seemed to go into action at once.

 

As Dawn began to scream in panicked horror at the ghastly sight of her former friend’s demolished face, Buffy instinctively went to her sister, pulling her forcefully into her arms, pressing her face down against her shoulder in an attempt to shield her eyes from the scene that would have been traumatic for an adult, let alone a young, relatively sheltered girl like Dawn.

 

“No! *Xander*!” Willow sobbed, rushing forward toward her friend, tears streaming from her eyes as she knelt at his side, clutching at his blood-soaked shirt in a vain effort to rouse him. “Xander, no! *No*!”

 

She had intended to take his life, her rage fueling her dark desires; but now that he had acted to take his own life, Willow remembered the love for him that she had pushed to the back of her mind – and suddenly, terribly, understood what the others had been trying to tell her.

 

Anya stood rooted to her spot, staring in stunned disbelief at the gory mess that the bullet had left of Xander’s face, silent tears streaming down her face, though she hardly seemed aware of them. Giles cautiously moved toward her, wrapping his arms around her in an attempt to soothe her pain – but she hardly seemed aware of *him*, either, her attention riveted on the still, broken form of her ex-fiancee.

 

She had made such worse messes of other men, who had done far less to deserve it than Xander had.

 

Still – it was so very different when it was someone she had known -- *loved*.

 

“He’s dead…oh my God, he’s dead…” she whispered, shaking her head as her mind struggled to process the concept.

 

“No,” Angel said softly after a long, silent moment. “No…he’s not…”

 

Startled, Buffy looked up at Angel, a question in her eyes, before following his steady gaze back to Xander.

 

“Heartbeat’s erratic, but still there,” Spike confirmed Angel’s assessment in a grim, even tone of voice.

 

Willow stared up at Spike with a wild hope in her eyes – her attitude and manner a complete reversal of what it had been only moments earlier. Her attempt at taking her friend’s life before seemed to have made her all the more passionate about saving it now.

 

“He’s alive?” she whispered. “Oh, God, he’s *alive*?” She turned toward the others, still standing across the room, none of them having moved. “Call 9-1-1!” she cried out desperately. “Hurry!”

 

As Giles hurried to obey her request, spurred to action by the revelation that there might still be hope to save the boy’s life, Spike just stared down with sober, pain-filled eyes, at the boy who had wrought such devastation in his life. He had not quite taken time yet to contemplate the amazing strength that he had managed to find in the midst of the crisis, the strength and wisdom that had possibly saved them all; but now that the crisis was over, he found himself once again surrounded and assailed by old doubts and fears.

 

He now remembered being who he was before Xander had shot him – but he had not forgotten those months of being little more than a toy, a punching bag, a slave.

 

And now, in this moment – he had no idea which “Spike” he was anymore.

 

Angel looked up at him sharply, his dark eyes full of concern and compassion for his childe – and not yet emptied of the rage that had filled them for his abuser. Studying the conflicted expression of pain and uncertainty in Spike’s eyes – even as Anya moved forward to assist Willow in trying to control Xander’s bleeding while they waited for help to arrive – Angel remarked quietly,

 

“You know, that heartbeat – that could be taken care of. Very easily.”

 

The words were so soft that most of the humans in the room did not hear them. Only Spike, with his enhanced hearing, and Buffy, whose attention was fully focused on the scene, caught the subtle suggestion of Angel’s comment.

 

“No,” Spike said quietly, his eyes downcast, his expression distant. “Don’t.”

 

“Are you sure?” Angel asked him, piercing dark eyes seeking his childe’s averted gaze.

 

“Yes,” Spike whispered, nodding. “I just want – I just…can we just go?” His blue eyes suddenly rose to meet those of his sire, pleading and vulnerable in a way that they had not been in over a century.

 

Angel’s eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected question – and then a soft, affectionate smile broke slowly over his face as he nodded. “Yeah,” he replied. “Yeah, we can.”

 

*********************************

 

“Where are you going?” Buffy asked anxiously, reaching out to touch Spike’s arm as he and Angel moved past her toward the door.

 

She felt as if she had been slapped in the face, when the blond vampire pulled away from her touch, not quite meeting her eyes as he hesitantly replied, “Just – just going…”

 

“Back to the house,” Angel filled in for Spike, meeting Buffy’s eyes with calm confidence. “It’s been quite a night, and I don’t think Spike needs to be here right now…”

 

“We’ll all be leaving in a little bit,” Buffy pointed out. “Just as soon as the ambulance gets here…”

 

“Yeah, with the cops right behind them,” Angel reminded her without missing a beat. “And I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to try to explain to the nice paramedics, who will most definitely want to check out that gunshot, not to mention all these other marks,” he continued, gesturing toward Spike’s injured shoulder, nodding toward his other injuries in general, “why this particular patient doesn’t have a heartbeat – do you?”

 

Buffy frowned, obviously not thrilled with the idea of their leaving without her, but having no argument for Angel’s reasoning. It *did* seem best if the vampires were not there whenever the authorities arrived.

 

“Wait a second,” she decided suddenly. “I’ll go with you…”

 

One glance at the slight grimace that crossed Spike’s face at her words was all the convincing Angel needed. “No,” he said firmly. “You need to stay here, Buffy. Be sure the cops know what happened.” He shrugged slightly, giving her a disarmingly sad smile. “You know – with the exception of the whole vampire thing. With the exception of mentioning Spike at all, actually. But they’re going to want a statement, and the closer we keep the story to what *actually* happened, the better. You should stay.”

 

Buffy swallowed hard, feeling her face flush with shame, with was only intensified by the knowledge that both vampires were aware of it.

 

She was not stupid. She had gathered by this point in the conversation that either Spike, or Angel – or both – did *not* want her around them at the moment.

 

“Okay,” she relented simply. “Whatever you think is best. You’re just – going back to the house – right?” she asked as an afterthought, a worried frown on her face as she sought Spike’s carefully averted gaze.

 

“Right,” Angel answered for him again – a habit that was beginning to annoy her.

 

“Spike,” Buffy persisted gently, reaching out a tentative hand to barely brush against his arm – and rewarded with an upward glance of those wide, painfully expressive blue eyes. “When I come home – we need to talk – okay?” She hesitated, before adding softly, “Please?”

 

Spike broke eye contact again, nodding his agreement, though he did not say a word.

 

Words seemed to be coming harder to him than usual at the moment.

 

Perhaps there were none for the turmoil of emotions he was feeling.

 

Buffy forced herself not to turn and watch them go, as Angel and Spike made their way out to Angel’s convertible – but she flinched at the sound of the motor starting in the driveway, and made no attempt to stop the tears of frustrated regret, as they began to course down her cheeks.

 

******************************

 

By the time the authorities arrived, despite Willow’s panic and the general chaos, the Scoobies had managed to adjust the true story of what had happened so as to make it fit with the “reality” that they knew the police would accept.

 

Buffy was frighteningly calm – in a state of shock, the paramedics said – as she explained to the police officer how the group of friends had had plans to meet at the Harris home tonight to watch movies and hang out…how they had arrived to find their friend Xander, ranting and raving incoherently about the confused, painful, violent feelings that had led him to kill his own parents…how after a tense few moments spent trying to talk him down, the boy had finally turned the gun on himself in a crazed attempt to end his own life.

 

It remained to be seen whether or not the attempt would be successful.

 

Buffy decided to think about the discrepancies between the story they had told, and Xander’s perspective on things, when and if Xander actually woke up.

 

Within minutes the boy had been rushed away by ambulance to the nearest hospital; but the police statements took quite a bit longer. Buffy began to grow anxious and impatient as it seemed that they asked her the same questions, over and over again.

 

She wanted to go home.

 

She wanted to talk to Spike.

 

A nagging part of her mind kept reminding her that at the moment, Spike apparently did not really want to talk to *her* -- that it would be best to allow the vampire some time with his sire, time that might be more beneficial to his healing than her self-serving attempts at apology – an apology which, while it would serve to make *her* feel better, would do little in the way of speeding Spike’s recovery.

 

She ignored that nagging part of her mind, listening instead to the screaming portion of her brain insisting that she *had* to be with Spike, *now*!

 

Before the police were finished with Buffy, Giles had managed to convince them to let him leave, taking the shell-shocked Anya, and the traumatized youngest Summers, with him. Dawn’s blank, lost stare as her young mind tried to process the horrors she had just seen, probably served to help his case quite a bit.

 

The police let them go, warning them that they would need to come in to give their statements at a later time.

 

Finally, the police officer who had taken Buffy’s statement drove her home in his squad car.

 

She could easily have run the distance, for all the speed with which he was driving – but she was grateful, sure that at the moment, she did *not* want to be alone.

 

“You’re sure you’re going to be all right, Miss Summers?” the officer asked her as she started up the walkway to her house.

 

She stopped when he spoke to her, but just nodded silently without turning around.

 

After a moment’s hesitation, the officer relented, “Okay. Just – call us if you remember anything else.”

 

Buffy nodded again as she started back up the sidewalk, and made her way through the front door.

 

She glanced around the living room, noting with some relief the sleeping form of her little sister, practically passed out on the living room sofa. Apparently, the trauma of the evening had been too much for her entirely, and she had succumbed to that blessed defense mechanism of childhood that brings about the blissful oblivion of sleep, when a certain occurrence is just too painful to be faced.

 

From the kitchen, she could hear soft voices in serious conversation – Anya and Giles, it sounded like.

 

There was no sign of Spike or Angel.

 

She stopped in the kitchen doorway, not looking up at her Watcher or his new lover – but aware by the sudden silence that they knew she was there. She raised her hollow, grief-stricken gaze to meet her Watcher’s crystal blue eyes – and the compassion and concern she saw there tore the hard, defensive wall to rubble around her bruised, betrayed heart.

 

The tears came fast and hard and sudden, as Giles swiftly made his way around the counter to her, wrapping his arms around her in a fatherly embrace, as the deep sobs of loss engulfed his Slayer, drowning her in her own tears – tears for Spike, for all that he had endured – for her friends, for the trauma and hurt and betrayal that had torn into the tight-knit shelter of their circle, leaving it irreparably changed – for herself, and the loss of all that was dear and safe and cherished in her life, over the course of the past few months.

 

When her tears finally ebbed, she pulled awkwardly out of Giles’ embrace, looking up at him sheepishly through red-rimmed eyes still glistening with tears. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

 

“Don’t be silly, Buffy, there’s nothing to be sorry about,” Giles brushed away her apology with a wave of his hand. “After a night like tonight a few tears are nothing to be…”

 

“No,” Buffy stopped him, shaking her head and glancing down for a moment, before looking up at him with an apologetic grimace. “Not that. I – I’m sorry I messed everything up so badly.”

 

Before the Watcher could voice the protest that was obviously building in his mouth, Buffy rushed on, “If I hadn’t been so stupid – the Harrises might still be alive right now. Spike wouldn’t have had to go through all that. Even Xander – Xander might not have…”

 

She stopped, swallowing back a sob, unable to go on for the emotion that choked her.

 

“Buffy,” Giles firmly stated. “You do not have to apologize to me. You meant well. Yes, you made some mistakes – but that doesn’t mean that you…”

 

“It was more than a few mistakes, Giles.” Buffy shook her head sadly, her wide eyes downcast as they welled with tears again. “I – I have to talk to Spike. I have to make this right somehow…”

 

The awkward silence that followed that statement drew her eyes back up to her Watcher’s face – and wrinkled her brow in a frown when he avoided her eyes.

 

“What – what is it?” she asked, a defensive note beginning in her voice.

 

If Giles was going to start down the whole “Spike is evil” road again, he had chosen the absolute worst possible time to do it.

 

“Um – that’s going to be a little hard right now, Buffy,” Anya spoke up slowly and cautiously, when Giles did not seem inclined to answer her question.

 

Confused, Buffy looked at the vengeance demon, whose expression was guarded, concerned, as she met her eyes reluctantly. “Why? What are you talking about?”

 

Anya hesitated, drawing in a deep breath, before suddenly letting it out, shaking her head in defeat. “Oh, I give up. I’ll just say it. It’s going to be hard for you to apologize to Spike because he’s not here.”

 

Alarm filled Buffy’s eyes as she demanded, “Where is he, then?”

 

Anya’s expression was matter-of-fact, but sympathetic, as she answered without hesitation, “He’s gone. He left. He went back to L.A. with Angel.”


	56. Chapter 56

All around them, there was nothing but darkness, stretching on as far as Spike could see. The dark leather seats beneath and beside him inside the black convertible offered little contrast to the expanse of charcoal gray that was the empty, open desert on either side of the highway, as they made their way further and further from Sunnydale, toward Angel’s domain – which was yet another mystery which was, to Spike, shrouded in darkness.

 

The mood inside the convertible was very much the same.

 

As Sunnydale – and the Slayer – fell farther and farther behind them, Spike found himself wondering if he had made an enormous mistake.

 

Already he missed her.

 

He had regained almost the totality of his lost memories, in the space of the past few hours; and now, he remembered not only the hurt of her ambivalence toward his abuser, her apparent intention to somehow reconcile her feelings for both him and Xander – but also the devastation of hurt that had come *before*…before the bullet had shattered his mind, and left him little more than a needy child, crawling at the feet of…well, everyone.

 

*She never loved you before, mate,* he reminded himself with a dull sort of resignation that was gradually coming to equal the pain of those words. *Why should she start now? Now, when you’ve been more trouble than ever to her? She’s the Slayer – not some sort of wet nurse. No wonder when it came down to a choice – she’d choose the whelp who’s been her best friend for six years over the brain-damaged vampire she hated to begin with. What more did you expect?*

 

“You okay?”

 

Angel’s too-cautious, too-calm voice from beside him seemed an unwelcome intrusion to his troubled thoughts; and he found himself biting back a sarcastic response of annoyance, forcing himself to remember that in all of this, so far anyway, his sire had been remarkably generous and compassionate – especially considering the last circumstances under which they had met.

 

Even so, he could not help calling Angel on his weak attempt. “Silly question, in’nit, Sire?” he pointed out in a slightly biting tone of voice.

 

Angel’s eyes widened in surprise – at the same moment that Spike cringed with embarrassment, as both realized what he had just said.

 

It was the first time that Spike had called Angel “Sire” in over a hundred years.

 

Well – his recent bout of brain damage not considered, that was.

 

Angel let it pass, aware that mentioning it would only serve to increase Spike’s embarrassment; and the younger vampire was struggling enough as it was, to somehow find a way to resolve the recent traumatic events with who he had been before. Spike was dealing with a sudden torrential invasion of hundreds of lost memories, and the last thing he needed was to deal with the mockery of his sire on top of it.

 

And besides – Angel sort of liked hearing the word from his childe’s lips, and didn’t really want to do anything to keep him from saying it again.

 

“Yeah,” he conceded quietly. “I guess it is.” He paused a moment, before adding a bit awkwardly, “If there’s anything – anything I can do to help you get through this…” He let his words trail off, the offer hanging there between them, waiting for Spike to accept or reject it.

 

Spike wanted to do both.

 

A part of him longed to fall into his sire’s arms like the childe he felt like now, and allow the older vampire to protect him, to soothe and comfort him – to be the father to him that Angel had really never been, but that he needed so badly in this moment. But another part of him that was just coming into his own again demanded that he reject Angel’s offer – preferably with a generous helping of mockery and derision. There was too much bad history between the two of them for Spike’s pride to allow him to surrender to Angel’s position as sire – not without a fight, anyway.

 

And after all – he knew it now – Buffy was not the only one who had failed him.

 

“Well, there *was*,” Spike began, his voice soft and cold in the stillness that was broken only by the soft purr of the car’s engine. He did not look away from the window he was staring out, as he finished, “about three months ago. But then – you already knew that…didn’t you, *Sire*?” This time, the word was spoken with bitter contempt.

 

Angel was struck speechless with surprise, and a little fear, as the feeling of being caught in some wrong that he had thought he had already gotten away with came over him with a hot flush of shame and regret.

 

But he had *not* gotten away with it. With the return of Spike’s other memories, had come his memory of his time in captivity – his memories of crying out in desperation across the bond that joined them, crying out for his sire to come and rescue him – and receiving only silence for a response.

 

Angel had let him down – had allowed his childe to suffer unspeakable torment, because of his own pride and bitterness.

 

And now, Spike *knew* he had let him down.

 

There was nothing for it but to face it.

 

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly, not looking away from the road. “Yeah, I did.”

 

They were both quiet for a long moment, neither really knowing what to say.

 

Words did not seem sufficient.

 

“I’m sorry, Spike,” Angel felt compelled to say, although the words sounded hollow and meaningless to his own ears. It was not that he didn’t mean them – because he did, more than he thought he had meant them in the past hundred years; it was the fact that he *knew* how little his apology meant to Spike, *now*, after all he had been through.

 

If anyone knew, Angel did – sometimes sorry just wasn’t enough.

 

“You could have stopped it,” Spike said after a long silence, his voice flat and defeated. “You could have kept it from happening. At least – the way it did, anyway.”

 

Angel could not deny his words, and there was no need to confirm them – so he said nothing, just allowed his childe to find the words he needed to say. Finally, Spike turned to glare at his sire with an expression of hurt and betrayal in his glittering blue eyes.

 

“I was there for over three months, Angel,” he reminded him pointedly. “Three bleedin’ months of torture and degradation and abuse – and you could have stopped it before it ever got that bloody far! Do you know how long it took me to get my memories back, once I was actually soddin’ *feeding* for a change?” His voice softened with anguished regret, as he shook his head and answered his own question. “Three or four *days*, Angel. That’s all. Three or four bloody days.”

 

The point was painfully clear to Angel.

 

Had he taken the responsibility that was his, and gone to his childe’s aid the moment he had heard his cry, he could have kept Spike from being as broken as he had eventually been. Had he found him when Xander had had him for only a week or so, and given him the blood he needed to heal, Spike could have recovered from the brain damage with very little of the agonizing trauma that had resulted from months of torture at his enemy’s hands.

 

“Spike – there’s nothing I can say but that I’m sorry,” Angel finally spoke up, when it seemed that Spike did not intend to go on anytime soon. “And I know that’s not enough – but – but I’m here now. And I want to help you. I really do – if you’ll accept my help.”

 

Spike was silent for a long moment, staring off through the windshield as the road whipped by them, before turning back toward his sire with a sort of sad, ironic smile of self-mockery.

 

“Looks like I already have, doesn’t it?” he remarked quietly.

 

Angel smiled grimly, glancing at his childe out of the corner of his eye before returning his eyes to the road. “Yeah, I guess so. You’re here, aren’t you?”

 

“Yeah – I’m here,” Spike muttered, in a good-natured tone of resignation.

 

A moment passed before Angel asked with mild curiosity, “Why?”

 

Spike merely looked at him, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.

 

Angel shrugged. “I mean – yeah, Buffy messed up. You need to get away from there, get a little distance from that whole situation for a while – I get that. But you didn’t have to come with *me*.” He glanced at Spike again, and the younger vampire looked away thoughtfully as he continued, “I mean – I messed up just as bad. We both let you get hurt, when we didn’t have to.”

 

Spike was quiet for a moment, considering. “I once told someone,” he began in a slow, thoughtful voice after a moment, “it seems to me, it doesn’t so much matter the things you do – the way you are – to start with, as the way you end up.”

 

Angel tilted his head slightly, a silent indication that he didn’t quite get what Spike was getting at.

 

“She – she told me she’d protect me – wouldn’t – wouldn’t let that wanker get to me…” Spike looked away, an expression of pain crossing his face at the memory, as he swallowed back the emotion that filled his voice before going on. “…but in the end – she did. Good intentions – not enough bloody follow-through, yeah?”

 

Angel nodded slowly, a sad smile beginning to come over his face, as he began to put together what Spike was saying, even before he went on.

 

“You – you heard me calling out – and you ignored it. Said to yourself, you did, ‘I’m not gonna lift a finger to help that useless, no-good excuse for a vampire that my childe turned out to be – ‘specially after last time we met he got his jollies off watching me turned into a bloody pincushion’.”

 

Angel could not suppress a soft huffing laugh at the image of himself, using such Spike-isms; and Spike laughed with him for a moment before looking at him and concluding in a soft, serious voice.

 

“She made a promise – and in the end, she didn’t keep it. You didn’t wanna help me – can’t say as I blame you, either, really, all things considered – but in the end…you came through.”

 

Angel nodded slowly. He couldn’t deny that it made sense, when Spike put it that way.

 

“You know – she didn’t mean it to come out the way it did.”

 

Spike grimaced slightly at the words, though he nodded his acceptance of them. “I know it,” he said. “In a way – I can’t really blame her. She is who she is – and her friends are a part of her – and that’s just always going to be.”

 

Angel said nothing. He was fairly certain that Buffy deserved more of a chance than Spike seemed willing to give her at the moment – but even more certain that now was not the time to press the issue.

 

After all – it had only been a few short hours.

 

“And besides,” Spike went on, in a voice of quiet determination and strength that made Angel feel a sense of relief just to hear it, “this isn’t really about her.”

 

“It isn’t?” Angel questioned, one brow raised as he glanced at his childe again.

 

“No,” Spike shook his head, the beginnings of a hesitant smile forming on his lips. “No, for once – it’s about *me*.”

 

************************************

 

“What do you mean, he *left*?”

 

“Buffy,” Giles began in a cautioning tone, though he did release his gentle hold on the suddenly volatile Slayer, stepping back a bit, “perhaps Spike just needs a little – time, to process everything that’s happened…”

 

“What he *needs* is to *listen* to me so we can get this straightened out!” Buffy objected, her voice trembling with urgency, her eyes wide with a fear that was more emotional than physical. “I mean – we have to talk this out, or…”

 

“What you mean is *you* have to talk this out,” Anya remarked matter-of-factly.

 

Buffy’s eyes narrowed dangerously as she turned to face the vengeance demon. “What?” she snapped, in no mood to deal with Anya’s arguments.

 

But Anya felt the need to express them.

 

“You mean it’s what *you* need, Buffy,” Anya clarified, her tone calm and even, knowing. “To feel better about what happened. You need to talk it out, grovel for forgiveness, get him to say ‘I forgive you, Buffy, and you’re still my bloody reason for living’ so that you can get over the guilt you’re feeling right now.”

 

Buffy was too stunned by Anya’s blunt words to respond, as Anya shrugged and finished, “But what if that’s not what *Spike* needs right now?”

 

“But,” Buffy sputtered, shaking her head almost frantically, “he has to be so upset! I mean – he has to wonder why I did…”

 

“Actually,” Anya broke in softly, “I don’t think he’s wondering at all. I think – he probably thinks he knows.”

 

Buffy’s eyes widened further with dismay as she realized what Anya was saying. “I have to talk to him,” she insisted in a slow, soft voice, staring off into space. “I have to go to L.A., and…”

 

“Buffy, what you ‘have to do’ is to give the man some bloody space!” Giles interrupted, his sudden exasperation taking Buffy off guard. “Well, what do you expect, Buffy?” he continued, rolling his eyes at her bewildered look before meeting her eyes a bit more patiently. “He’s got an awful lot to process at the moment – and so do you.”

 

Buffy was silent, considering her Watcher’s words, waiting dubiously for him to go on.

 

“It’s quite possible,” Giles went on slowly, his voice quieter now, as he held his Slayer’s gaze, “That Spike has made the best possible decision for *both* of you at the moment. There’s going to be much to be dealt with over the next few weeks. Police statements and – and final arrangements for Xander’s family – and the fate of Xander himself is still uncertain…”

 

Buffy lowered her gaze, as the impact of what he was saying, combined with Spike’s leaving, began to weigh her down, dampening her fiery determination to chase after “her” vampire.

 

“You have a little sister in there on the couch – who’s going to need you very much over the next few weeks. Not to mention Willow, and…well, I suspect we’re *all* going to need each other very much during this time. It’s going to be very hard on all of us.”

 

Buffy looked up at him in sudden surprise, her expression softening when she saw the tears glistening in her Watcher’s eyes, and realized that it was likely as close as he would come to admitting that *he* would be in need of a bit of support himself.

 

He was right. They *all* would.

 

“Dawnie,” Buffy whispered, realization coming to her slowly. “She’s gonna be so hurt when she finds out he…”

 

“She knows,” Giles informed her gently, earning another startled look. “He spoke to her just before he left. She was still a bit – out of sorts…and very sleepy…but she seemed to understand that – well, this is probably what he *needs* right now…”

 

“The last thing Spike needs,” Anya broke in sympathetically, “is to have to be around to hear us all bawling and reminiscing about – Xander…” She hesitated, and her voice broke slightly over her ex-fiancee’s name. “See?” she said, sniffing back tears past a too-bright smile as she met Buffy’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter what he’s done – he’s still Xander – and there’s still gonna be all these annoying, confusing feelings, no matter how hard I -- *we* -- try not to have them anymore, because we somehow think we shouldn’t. But, I kind of think maybe if we really *shouldn’t* feel anything for him, then we wouldn’t? Right? I mean – maybe this is how it’s supposed to be?”

 

Giles gently put his arm around her, offering his silent support, where no words would suffice to help ease her confusion, and the powerful emotions which Anya still was so awkward at understanding, let alone expressing.

 

“Spike may be just where he needs to be right now,” Giles finished softly for her, looking at Buffy with tender compassion in his eyes. “And you most definitely are. Once things are settled a bit here – perhaps then you could contact him. See where you stand at that point.”

 

Buffy nodded slowly, feeling suddenly exhausted as everything seemed to catch up with her at once, leaving her feeling numb and completely drained.

 

“It’ll all turn out, dear,” Giles assured her softly, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. “All things do, with time.”


	57. Chapter 57

The combined funeral of Anthony and Jessica Harris was a sparsely attended affair.

 

The overwhelmingly long guest list that had marked the not-wedding of Xander and Anya was nothing but a distant memory, as the very small group gathered in the cemetery, in the softly falling rain, to pay their respects to the fallen couple. The Harris clan apparently was far more willing to take part in a celebration, than in a time of loss and suffering.

 

If there was such a thing as “fair weather family”, it seemed that the Harrises’ relations fit the bill.

 

Reputation and simple poor manners had left Xander’s parents with few friends in Sunnydale; so there were fewer than twenty people in attendance of the funeral. The Scoobie gang was represented only by Willow, Giles and Anya. Willow had been a friend of the family’s since early childhood, and Anya felt that it was the appropriate thing for her to attend.

 

After the way the Harrises had treated her, Giles felt that she really had no obligation to go, but Anya had told him that she would have felt wrong not to go, no matter what Xander had done, after all that had passed between them before.

 

Giles had looked at her with affection in his eyes as he had asked her softly, teasingly, “Are you quite certain that you’re no longer human? Because it seems you do a better job at humanity than some humans I know.”

 

Anya had given him a self-conscious smile, half-pleased, half-troubled, tucking her head shyly as she had shrugged and replied in a soft, uncertain voice, “I don’t know – sometimes I forget that I’m not – not everything you deserve for me to be...”

 

Calmly, yet with a fire of anger in his eyes, the Watcher had replied in a soft, careful voice, “If by that ludicrous phrase – ‘not everything I deserve you to be’ – you mean ‘human’…you have absolutely *nothing* to worry about, my dear…”

 

“I know,” Anya replied a bit fretfully, looking away from him. “It’s just – I get so confused sometimes…I know that being human is better – you know, for humans – and sometimes I still *feel* like I did when I was human…but I know that you really deserve better…”

 

“No, Anyanka,” Giles interrupted, his expression softer as he raised a hand to gently cup her cheek, raising her lovely but uncertain eyes to his again. “You are better than I deserve.” He had taken to calling her “Anyanka”, telling her that he thought it much more fitting to her than the shorter – and in his opinion sillier – “Anya”.

 

Anya loved hearing that name on his lips – yet another evidence she needed that he accepted her as she was.

 

She gazed up at him with a yearning, almost awed expression in her eyes that never failed to go straight to the Watcher’s heart – and occasionally further. She looked away almost shyly, shaking her head in the beginnings of denial, but he stopped it before it could start.

 

“Whatever good is in you,” he continued earnestly, “is not some remnant of your brief time of humanity. It is because of *you*…Anyanka…that you feel the things you feel…say the things you say…are the wonderful person that you are…and that person is far more than I deserve.”

 

Those words left Anya speechless with wonder at his confession – and his next confession left her breathless as well.

 

“I suspect – I may be falling completely, irrevocably, in love with you, Anyanka.”

 

She had stared at him for a long moment, their lips bare inches apart by this point, before wildly glancing behind her at the clock, and turning back to him with a hasty shrug.

 

“The funeral’s in an hour,” she had pointed out breathlessly – and more than a little hopefully.

 

His eyes had widened, glancing past her to the clock, before nodding quickly and agreeing, “There’s time.”

 

They had been a bit flushed and thrown together – but an hour later, the Watcher and the vengeance demon had been at the funeral with the handful of other mourners.

 

As for Xander himself, he was still in the hospital, stable, but in a coma – and the doctors did not hold out much hope of his ever waking up.

 

The bullet had destroyed a good portion of his brain, including the parts responsible for movement and speech. A machine was keeping his heart pumping, his lungs breathing, as his brain was no longer capable of it.

 

The doctors said that there was little chance that he could hear, or speak, or was aware of anything around him, but that there was a good chance that he was still capable of conscious thought. The regions of his mind responsible for thought and memory were still intact, though his brain injury would never allow him the ability to actually communicate with the world around him – never again.

 

Xander was trapped in a world where he could not move, could not speak, could not communicate or act on his environment in any way – with only the murmurs and memories of his own mind for company…for the rest of his life.

 

Buffy thought it ironically fitting to his crimes.

 

She had been at the hospital almost every day since that horrible day when Xander had killed his parents, and tried to kill himself. She had felt the need to check in with his doctors each day, to find out how he was doing, and if there was any change – but when they had offered to let her actually visit her friend, she had always refused.

 

Somehow, she could not bring herself to face Xander, even when she knew he would have no idea that she was even there.

 

She had absolutely no idea what she would say to him.

 

Dawn had refused to go to the hospital even once – which was exactly what Buffy had expected – but Willow had been there every single day, sitting by his side, talking to him, hoping that something she would say might trigger a response in her friend, might somehow bring him back to consciousness – so that he might eventually be brought back to *her*. She was firmly convinced that there was hope – he *could* come back.

 

After all – she had come back.

 

But Buffy was convinced that this was different – worse – than what had happened with Willow.

 

Willow had killed the boy who had killed Tara, and the man who had fed her addiction and violated her body and soul.

 

Xander had murdered his own family in cold blood – and tortured a helpless creature who had been utterly defenseless against him.

 

Buffy was convinced that the two situations were nothing alike.

 

Her life fell into a routine over the next few weeks.

 

She was getting mostly day shifts at the Doublemeat Palace, and she would go to work in the morning, then stop by the hospital in the afternoon to check on Xander’s status – without actually checking in on *him*. Most days when she got home, Dawn would be there already, usually on the phone long distance to L.A.

 

Usually, she would abruptly hang up the phone when Buffy came through the door – but Buffy knew who she was talking to.

 

She was talking to the person that Buffy herself desperately longed to talk to.

 

When she walked through the door one afternoon, exactly three weeks after Spike had left, she finally managed to summon the courage that had evaded her every other day, and called out to her sister hurriedly, “*Wait*! Dawnie, don’t hang up!”

 

Dawn’s hand froze with the receiver still pressed to her ear, as she looked up at her sister from where she sat on the sofa, her eyebrows raised in a surprised question.

 

Dawn’s anger with her sister had evaporated quickly after the incident, as she had come to understand how torn Buffy must have been, between the boy who had been like her brother for six years, and the vampire that had recently come to mean so much more. She still felt that her sister had made a huge mistake in her handling of the situation – but she could not help but feel compassion for the obvious pain Buffy was in, in Spike’s absence.

 

And Spike himself actually had quite a bit to do with her change in attitude.

 

It was obvious from their first long distance phone conversation, that Spike missed Buffy, too – if the number of times he managed to mention her in each and every conversation was any indication.

 

By the time that Buffy managed to work up the nerve to actually ask to speak with him – Dawn had come to hope that she would.

 

But in the moment after – that nerve fled Buffy again.

 

“Um – can you find out if Angel’s around?” she asked in a breathless rush, her eyes wide and panicked as she uttered the quickest out she could manage.

 

Dawn rolled her eyes in irritation, sighing dramatically as she muttered into the phone, “Don’t flip out, okay? Is, um – Angel there?”

 

There was a moment of heavy silence, before Buffy heard the sound of loud, British cursing on the other end of the phone, as Dawn winced and held the phone a couple of inches away from her ear.

 

“I know,” she said in an appeasing tone of voice. “I know…actually, I think ‘moron’ is a better word…okay…okay…well, she’s still standing here waiting to talk to him, so…” She nodded, saying, “Okay, I’ll talk to you later. Bye,” and holding out the phone expectantly to her sister.

 

Buffy’s face flushed with embarrassment as she crossed the room and took the phone from her sister’s hand.

 

“Dummy,” Dawn commented quietly as she passed her and made her way up the stairs.

 

Buffy did not even attempt to defend herself.

 

“Buffy?”

 

“Yeah – Angel?”

 

“Yeah – um – why is Spike pacing outside my office fuming? What did you say to him?” Angel asked a bit nervously.

 

“N-nothing,” Buffy admitted quietly. “I didn’t talk to him. I just – asked to talk to you.”

 

Angel was silent for a long moment, before he replied in a strange tone, somewhere between pleased satisfaction and exasperated annoyance, “Well that explains it then. Buffy…” His voice softened, as if in an attempt to not be heard by his childe outside his door, “…would it kill you to talk to him?”

 

Buffy blinked in surprise, her eyes widening in confusion. “But – does he *want* to talk to me? I mean – I thought – he’s gotta be – isn’t he still mad at me for what happened?”

 

Angel sighed. “No, Buffy,” he told her. “He’s not. He just – needed some time away.”

 

Buffy swallowed back the sob of relief that rose in her throat, trying to control the shaking of her voice as she asked in a hesitant whisper, “Then – then why didn’t he even – say goodbye?”

 

“Because if he’d tried to say goodbye, you never would have let him leave.”

 

Once again, Buffy had no argument for the truth.

 

“I’m not saying it’s easy for him to understand, Buffy. I mean – for you it’s this huge gray area, and it’s gotta be painful and confusing…but for the one who actually got shot, kidnapped, and tortured for months – the whole thing’s pretty black and white,” Angel pointed out matter-of-factly. “It was tough for him to see you that night – taking up for Xander’s life.”

 

“I know,” Buffy admitted softly, tears streaking her face as she tried to make him understand. “It’s just – Angel, it was *Xander*. I know you two never got along – but he saved my *life* -- he saved the *world*! He meant so much to me – and I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t bring myself to take part in – in his death. Can’t you understand that?”

 

“Yes, Buffy, *I* understand it,” Angel replied with patience and compassion in his voice. “It’s a little harder for Spike – but I think he’s starting to understand it, too, with a little distance to put things in perspective. But – there’s something *you* need to understand, Buffy.”

 

The Slayer was uncharacteristically silent, subdued, waiting for him to go on.

 

“It’s *not* Xander – not anymore,” he reminded her gently. “He’s not the boy you knew – and apparently he hasn’t been for quite a while. Spike remembers everything now -- *everything* -- and from what I can figure, when Xander talked Willow down from ending the world…he already had Spike chained up and starving in the Initiative caves.”

 

It was at that point that Buffy broke down in tears.

 

“He’s not the same person you knew, Buffy. And – if you’re ever going to move on…you’re going to have to face that.”

 

******************************

 

“Hey. I bet you’re – probably wondering why I haven’t been by until now.”

 

Of course, there was no response from the pale, silent figure in the hospital bed.

 

“Well,” Buffy corrected quietly, frowning as she slowly sat down in the chair beside the bed, “actually, I – guess you’re not. The doctors say you – can’t really hear me.” Her voice was halting as she sought the words she needed to express. “I guess there’s no point in being here, really – but – I just have to do this.”

 

She was quiet for a moment, swallowing back the tears that rose in her throat – but they made their way down her face in spite of her best attempts.

 

“I’ve been spending half my time these past few weeks, trying not to hate you,” she told her former best friend, who lay utterly unresponsive in front of her. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought that he was simply asleep. “And – I’ve spent the other half -- *trying* to hate you,” she whispered, her voice aching with the pain of her words.

 

“I – I think that I should – after all you’ve done – and in a way, I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive you – but – in another way – I think that I already have. You – you’ve been there for me so many times – you’ve saved me in so many different ways – and I never could have imagined not having you in my life…but – I’m going to have to, now.”

 

“I don’t even know you anymore, Xander,” Buffy whispered, shaking her head sadly as her tear-filled eyes studied his still, slack face, memorizing it for what would likely be the last time. “And – I think I haven’t for a long time. You’re not the person you were when we met…that person is gone. The person that did what you did – to Spike – to your parents – to Willow, and Dawnie, and *me* -- I don’t want anything to do with that person. And if that’s all that’s left of you, Xander – I’m ready to move on, and let go. There’s – only one thing left for me to do.”

 

Buffy found that as she went along, the words came easier, though her tears did not stop, as she whispered softly, with the remnants of affection she still felt for the friend she had once known.

 

“It’s time for me to say goodbye.”

 

She rose from her chair, moving to the side of the bed, gazing down with sad eyes.

 

“I love Spike. I know that now – and as much as you’ve meant to me – there’s no part of me that can ever accept what you did to him. I – I had a hard time – choosing between you, as my friend – and him. But – now that I know what the choice really is – between Spike – and the person that you’ve become…” She shook her head with a sad smile, “…somehow the choice seems so much easier.”

 

“I’m going to miss who you were to me, Xander,” Buffy whispered, as she leaned over the bed, pressing a soft, almost reverent kiss to his cool, dry brow. She stood up straight, the single word a mere breath on her lips.

 

“Goodbye.”

 

And with nothing left to say, the Slayer turned and walked out of the room – without a backward glance.


	58. Chapter 58

“So – she hasn’t said anything about…right…okay…is she…? Oh…not even there, eh? And is that not even there in the sense of *actually* not even there – or in the sense of ‘doesn’t wanna talk to me’ not even there? Out patrollin’? Oh. Right…well…okay, then…yeah…yeah, I know, Bit. All right. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, pet. Bye.”

 

Spike’s tone shifted from slightly terse but still pleasant for Dawn’s benefit, to outright explosive fury, in the single instant in which he hung up the phone.

 

“Bloody stupid women!” he muttered resentfully as he slammed the receiver down into its cradle, stalking across the room and back as he continued his swiftly building tirade. “Can’t ever make up their bleedin’ minds! Say they love you, but then they stab you in the back. Say they’re sorry, but then can’t even bring themselves to soddin’ face you! Can’t just bloody *deal* with a thing – gotta avoid you – gotta push it to the back of their minds, gotta hide from it, try to pretend it’s not there…”

 

“Excuse me?” a soft, timid voice with a lilting southern accent cautiously interrupted his rant; and he turned around to see a pair of huge, dark eyes watching as his rapid, pacing footsteps slowly began to burn a hole in the floor of the lobby of Angel’s hotel. “But I kinda think I ought to be taking offense to the whole ‘women are the devil’ theme you’ve got goin’ here. And – and I think I *would* be – if it wasn’t so obvious that you don’t mean *women* so much as *woman* -- meaning one woman in particular.”

 

Spike stopped mid-step, looking down at the waifish girl standing in the doorway. As he watched her, she cautiously entered the room, and sat down on the circular sofa, staring him with wide, solemn eyes. He was actually quite surprised at her presence, which he had not sensed in any way until she had spoken from the doorway.

 

It seemed as if his heated tirade, intended for only his own ears had made him deaf and blind to anyone else who might have been around him.

 

Fortunately, at the moment – that included only Fred.

 

Spike stared at her for a long moment, taking in her thin, birdlike frame, the slightly anxious expression of concern in her wide, dark eyes – and let out a weary sigh as he collapsed on the seat beside her, letting his head fall back against the back of the seat and closing his eyes.

 

"And what would you know about it, love?" he asked in a voice that held no malice or irritation -- just sheer emotional exhaustion.

 

He had had more than one close conversation with the pretty little Texan since he’d come to Angel’s hotel. Drawn to Fred’s compassion and gentle nature, he had found himself opening up to her in ways that he’d seldom been able to open up to anyone, and several of those unexpected conversations had been downright therapeutic.

 

But at the moment, he was simply too tired to want to talk about it, and thought that his pointedly challenging question might put her off enough to get him off the hook for the moment.

 

It didn’t.

 

"About which part? Hidin' from the truth? Pretendin' it's not real?" Fred’s soft, lilting voice became a quiet laugh, as she shook her head and added, "More than you might think."

 

Spike looked up at her speculatively, studying her slightly self-conscious yet knowing manner for a few moments. "You mean the hell dimension," he observed softly, and shrugged apologetically when she looked up at him, startled. "Peaches told me about it,” he explained. “Said you were there for a good long while."

 

Fred just stared at him in silence for a long moment, before nodding in resignation. "Five years," she confirmed, her eyes downcast, focused on her suddenly shaking hands folded in her lap. "And most of that was spent hidin’ in a cave so they wouldn't find me and take me back and make me a cow again."

 

Spike was quiet for a moment, not quite sure how to respond to that, before he admitted slowly, "Guess you *would* know a fair bit about it then, wouldn't you?”

 

“Yep,” Fred chirped, giving him a bright, expectant smile. “Wouldn’t mind knowing a little more, though,” she hinted in a most unsubtle way.

 

He paused, considering, before he released a heavy sigh – and gave in.

 

The girl wasn’t going to give up until he had bared his metaphorical soul to her – again.

 

“All right then," he went on, raising his eyebrows expectantly as he looked at her. "Tell me this, then, if you can – what in the bleedin' hell does she think she has to hide from now? The truth is out – she knows what happened, can't deny it anymore, no matter how bad she might want to...so the least she could do is bloody well *talk* to me about it! But she hasn't asked to – not once. Yesterday, I just *knew* she was going to -- but who did she want to talk to? Not me, that's for bloody sure! She asked for *Peaches*!"

 

Spike spoke his impudent nickname for his sire with clear disgust, not so much with Angel, as with Buffy’s continued reliance on him.

 

Angel had been fulfilling the sire’s role perfectly since he had come here, and Spike had to admit that his sire’s presence had made him feel safe again, in a way that he had not felt since, truth be told, long before Xander had ever shot him. In truth, he had not felt so safe and protected since – well, since he’d been captured by the Initiative.

 

Now, the chip was gone – and Xander was as good as dead – and Angel was making a genuine, concerned effort to help Spike recover, both physically and emotionally, from the trauma of the past few months.

 

There had been nights in the past few weeks in which Spike had raged and ranted and vented his frustration to his sire until he had exhausted himself completely – and Angel never once complained about the damage to his furniture and other belongings…and occasionally his person.

 

There had been other nights, when attempts to verbalize what he was struggling with had eluded Spike completely – and all that had come were torrents of tears. His momentary fears of humiliation, at Angel’s seeing his weakness, had evaporated as his sire had held him close, a protective growl reverberating in his throat, a wordless promise of death and destruction to anyone who might dare to attempt to harm his childe again.

 

Long distance conversations with Dawn had helped Spike to feel connected to his old life again – to feel as if he had not completely lost what few good things the past in Sunnydale had held for him.

 

Except Buffy.

 

He was becoming pretty bloody sure that he had lost her.

 

What he wasn’t so sure of was whether or not he *wanted* to lose her.

 

"Maybe she's scared to talk to you," Fred suggested with a little shrug.

  

"Right! What's she got to be scared of?" Spike demanded, turning to face her fully, his hands gesturing wildly in his frustration. "I'm the one that's got an actual *reason* to be scared, after..." His voice trailed off, and he looked away quickly, shaking his head. "I'm the one who's got a reason to be scared," he repeated, almost sullenly, as he sank back against the seat again.

 

Fred was quiet for a moment, considering, without looking up at him. Finally, she replied softly, “Except – what you were scared of – is sort of – gone now. You know? That boy’s in a coma, Angel said – won’t ever wake up – and even if he did, that chip’s gone now too – so you could defend yourself if anyone tried anything now.”

 

She paused, waiting until Spike dubiously met her gaze before she went on, “What Buffy’s scared of – hasn’t actually happened yet.”

 

Spike stared at her, waiting, before asking flatly in a voice of mild sarcasm, “And just what might that be, in your expert opinion of Buffy – a girl you’ve never met, who also happens to be quite possibly the most complex, confusing chit ever to walk the earth?”

 

“Maybe,” Fred acknowledged with a nod and a half-smile. “But still – just a girl.”

 

Spike considered that for a moment before nodding his understanding. “Right, then. As a fellow member of the female race – what do you think Buffy’s so afraid of?”

 

Fred’s answer came without hesitation. “That you won’t forgive her.”

 

Spike blinked at her in surprise, speechless for a moment as he considered her assessment. Finally, he replied in a soft, aching voice, “I already have, love.”

 

After a moment’s pensive silence, he frowned thoughtfully, as he slowly shook his head. “I mean – I *think* I have. Partly, anyway…”

 

“See? So she *does* have a reason to be scared,” Fred pointed out, the expression in her eyes a strange mixture of triumph at her correct assessment of the situation, and sympathy for Spike’s dilemma.

 

“No,” Spike objected. “She doesn’t! I mean – of course I *forgive* her…I understand that the boy was her friend – and before all this, I was barely past being treated like her enemy. She naturally wouldn’t want to take my side over his – or to think that he was capable of – of what he did. But…” Spike hesitated, shaking his head as he struggled to find the words he was searching for.

 

Finally, he went on in a quiet, controlled voice, not looking at Fred as he spoke.

 

“I just – I expected more from her, I s’pose. I – shouldn’t have, I know it. But I did.”

 

When he did not say anything for a long moment, Fred gently prodded him, “What exactly did you expect?”

 

Spike took so long to answer that Fred had begun to wonder if he was going to at all, when he finally spoke in a voice barely over a whisper.

 

“What I’d earned from her – what she’d *promised* me.”

 

When he slowly looked up to meet her eyes, Fred shook her head slightly, frowning in confusion. “What she…?”

 

Spike’s expression was calm, but his expressive eyes reflected the depth of the pain and betrayal he felt due to the Slayer’s careless actions.

 

“I know I’m a vampire – a monster – and I haven’t got a bloody soul like Angel’s got to serve as my get out of jail free card. But – I’ve proven myself to her in these past few years – many times. Fought the good fight beside her, again and again – know I’ve saved her life more than once. Took torture for her and her little sis once – and she promised me she wouldn’t forget it. I’ve bloody well loved the girl more than my own unlife, for the past two years – maybe longer.”

 

“She knew that,” he went on softly, shaking his head with a little wince of pain that was emotional rather than physical. “She knew I loved her – and – and in spite of everything – she mostly punished me for feelin’ it. She – she used me; she admitted she did. She – did a lot of other things to me, too, that most blokes would find hard to forgive – but I did. Because I really do love her.”

 

“But this – this is different, pet.”

 

Fred’s dark gaze shone with sympathetic tears, as she reached out a gentle hand to rest on his arm, a silent attempt to pull him back from the edge of his painful memories. “How?” she asked softly. “How is it different?”

 

“I guess – in the back of my mind – there was always this – knowledge – that no matter how angry she was at the fact that she was even alive, how badly she treated me because I loved her when she couldn’t even love herself…if push came to shove – she’d be there. I knew she had no problem sending a blow or two my way when she was in a mood – but I thought that – if someone else tried to – I mean – I thought she’d at least…”

 

Spike’s emotions choked him, and he found that he could not go on, shaking his head helplessly.

 

It was all right; Fred was pretty sure she had the general idea.

 

“You thought that if you ever *really* needed her – if you ever really couldn’t protect yourself, were ever really that vulnerable – she wouldn’t let you down,” she guessed quietly. “Not after her promise – not after all the things you’d done for her, all the things you’d been through together – right?”

 

Spike nodded, swallowing back a sob that rose in his throat.

 

“But she *did* let you down.”

 

He nodded again, and a lone tear fell from his eye to stain the dark denim of his jeans.

 

“I – I thought that she’d at least – at least take my word for *something*,” he whispered, his hurt at Buffy’s failure evident in his voice. “Thought she’d at least listen enough to *consider* the possibility that the boy might have done something questionable – but she didn’t. She just assumed that I was wrong, or confused, or simply too bloody brain dead to know what I was talking about – and she automatically took his side over mine. End of story.”

 

“I think – it was probably a bit more – more complicated than that, to her,” Fred cautiously attempted to soften the blow, wincing slightly in anticipation of his possibly angry reaction.

 

Spike’s manner was not angry at all. It was actually closer to – well, broken.

 

He shook his head sadly in response, “It wasn’t complicated at all to me, love. I – I told myself that no matter how hard she tried to deny it, she really did love me – and if the time ever came when it was all on the line – worst case scenario and all that – she’d show it. Then, after I was – injured – she finally told me! She said that she loved me!”

 

He shrugged, with a bittersweet sort of laugh. “Didn’t mean much to me at the time she said it – leastwise not as much as it meant once I got my memory back – but she finally said the words…and you’ve no bloody idea how long I’d been wanting to hear them! And – and I believed her – completely.”

 

He finally looked up at Fred, an agony of rejection and disappointment in his blue eyes. “Except – then the worst case scenario *did* come about – push and shove and all that. I really *did* need her – and – she didn’t come through for me.” He paused, gathering his thoughts, before finishing in a soft, desolate voice, “I can forgive her for using me last year. I can forgive her for knocking me around a bit – after all, she’s the Slayer, it’s sort of what she *does*. But – I don’t know if I can ever forgive her for…”

 

His voice trailed off, as he swallowed back a sob, shaking his head and looking away.

 

“For what?” Fred asked in a quiet, gentle voice after a long moment of silence.

 

The pain in Spike’s eyes, in his voice, when he looked up at her again, nearly took Fred’s breath away.

 

“For saying those words – saying she loved me – and not meaning it.”


	59. Chapter 59

  
  


Buffy was standing in the kitchen, making a token effort at washing the few dishes from breakfast that morning, but mostly trying not to listen in on Dawn's telephone conversation from the next room -- and trying not to cry because it was Dawn on the phone and not her.

She knew that she would never be able to repair her relationship with Spike -- if one could even call it a relationship, after the nightmare of complicated, painful drama it had consisted of -- if she did not just get her nerve up and talk to him. But it was harder than she had ever thought it would be, knowing that she had so much to make up for to him -- and *not* knowing if he would grant her the opportunity.

“So,” she heard Dawn’s voice suddenly growing nearer, in motion, and turned with the dishrag in her hand to see her little sister standing in the kitchen doorway, surveying her skeptically as she talked to Spike. “If there’s -- nothing else you wanted to talk about right now -- I guess I -- kinda need to do homework.”

She raised her eyebrows expectantly as she met her sister’s eyes and continued to talk into the phone, “Yeah, I know, right? It totally sucks. I don’t see why the monks couldn’t have made me Buffy’s incredibly brilliant, college graduate *older* sister, instead of making me suffer through the inhuman torture that is high school. And on a Hellmouth, too.”

Buffy realized immediately what Dawn was doing -- giving her one last chance before she hung up the phone, to do what she should have done weeks ago -- to take that phone from her hand and break the awkward silence between herself and Spike, a silence that could be felt by both of them, even across the miles.

Dawn laughed at something Spike had said in response to her words, an impatient tap of her foot beginning as she gave her sister a pointed look of exasperation.

Buffy bit her lip, frowning, her eyes wide with sudden terror -- before she spun on her heel and faced the sink again, very deliberately picking up a plate and resuming her mundane household work.

Dawn sighed as she turned and headed back in the living room.

“Oh -- nothing,” Buffy heard her say, her voice fading slightly as she moved farther away from her. “I was just looking at this really stupid, annoying -- math problem, and thinking how much easier it would be if the stubborn thing could just work itself out…”

Buffy winced slightly, aware that she was the “math problem” in question, but breathed a sigh of momentary relief as she heard her sister say her goodbyes for the evening and hang up the phone -- relief that was swiftly overtaken by a melancholy sense of failure and despair.

She *did* feel relief whenever Dawn hung up the phone with Spike -- because whenever she knew that her sister was talking to him, it was like every nerve in her body was taut, prepared, ready for action that her heart was not quite steady enough to take yet. And when Dawn hung up the phone, there was a certain ease in the thought that the moment had passed, and her dilemma made moot -- for the moment.

But invariably, the truth would catch up with her denial-bound mind, reminding her that the problem was not going to go away -- not until she dealt with it.

“I meant that, you know,” Dawn stopped again in the doorway on her way up to her room, addressing her sister’s back matter-of-factly. “The stupid, annoying, stubborn part -- and I wasn’t talking about math.”

Buffy’s jaw set with irritation, and she did not turn around, refusing to acknowledge her sister’s words. She was more than a little annoyed with Dawn’s attitude, and even more annoyed at the fact that she was pretty much right -- and found it easier to ignore her completely than to turn around and try to fight both her sister’s surprisingly sound logic, and the intense urge she felt to slap her.

Dawn let out another heavy, dramatic sigh as she turned and walked away.

And a few minutes later, as she put the last clean dish in the draining pan, Buffy sat down at the kitchen counter, and began to cry.

*************************************

 

“Maybe you should just call her.” Angel’s voice held a defeated note -- as if he knew his words were in the best interests of the person he was speaking to, but really, *really* had not wanted to speak them aloud.

“Are you bloody kidding me?” Spike demanded, turning on his sire with an incredulous look, momentarily ceasing his frenetic pacing across the floor of Angel’s suite.

This had become a nightly ritual of sorts at the Hyperion, the only variant being the precise location where it took place -- depending on which phone Spike happened to use to call Sunnydale.

“Why should *I* call *her*, when she can’t even be bothered with so much as a question. ‘How’s Spike?’ Would it be so hard? But, no, she obviously wants nothing to do with me!” he snarled, his hurt and resentment obvious in his voice, as it lowered to a mutter with his last words, “Probably bloody well relieved to have that chapter of her life closed for good. God knows I should be!”

“Spike -- we’ve had this conversation before,” Angel pointed out in a voice of patience that was strained nearly to its end. “You know that’s not true.”

“See, that’s the thing, Peaches,” Spike reminded him, looking up at him with a matter-of-fact expression as he finished, “No, I really don’t.”

“I told you, she thinks you don’t want to talk to her, Spike,” Angel repeated words he had stated many times over the past month and a half that Spike had been staying with him. “She *does* care -- but she knows you’ve got a pretty good reason to be mad at her, not to forgive her…and she’s just like any other woman, Spike. She’s not gonna willingly set herself up to be rejected.”

“She’s *not* ‘just like any other woman’.”

The softly stubborn words were barely audible -- wouldn’t have been at all, to a human -- but Angel smiled secretly to himself to hear them.

Spike’s feelings for the Slayer really had not changed all that much.

“No,” Angel agreed, shaking his head wistfully as he turned away from the window overlooking the lights of L.A. to face his childe. “Gotta admit, she’s not.” He paused for a moment, studying Spike’s taut expression of frustration, as he moved to sit down in one of the chairs in his living room area. “So why aren’t you willing to make an effort for her?”

Spike was silent for a long moment, his eyes closed, as he visibly swallowed back a swell of emotion that threatened to take his control. When he finally did answer, in a bare whisper of striking pain -- Angel could not fault him for his words.

“Because that’s all I’ve ever bloody well done.”

Angel was silent, having no answer for that painfully true statement.

Buffy had told him enough during their own phone conversations of the past few weeks, for him to understand that the pseudo-relationship the Slayer had shared with his childe had been at best unhealthy, and at worst downright abusive at times. Buffy had been falling apart -- and Spike had willingly gone along for the ride, albeit perhaps hoping to slow it down a bit, or even change the direction she had been taking.

But his efforts had failed, for the most part, and the wreckage of their relationship had ended up being just as painful as the relationship itself. Neither of the two had come out of the thing unhurt, or innocent, Angel knew.

But he knew that Spike had never stopped trying to win Buffy’s affections.

And she had thrown his efforts back in his face, every time.

“Why shouldn’t she come after *me* for once, if she really cares so much? If she really bloody *loves* me, like she said she does…”

Spike’s voice broke over the words, and he sank down in the chair across from Angel, covering his face with his hands, as tears began to flow again, despite his best efforts to hold them back.

“You’re right,” Angel said quietly, surprising himself with the words. “You shouldn’t have to always do the work in a relationship -- if you do -- then, maybe the relationship’s not worth having.”

Spike looked up at him, a startled, stricken expression on his face.

And suddenly, Angel knew exactly how to play the conversation out.

“Maybe you’re right,” Spike conceded uncertainly, in a hollow, desolate sort of voice. “Maybe if she -- if she’s not willing to make a single soddin’ step in my direction -- maybe -- maybe it would never have really worked, anyway…”

“Yeah -- just not meant to be,” Angel agreed quietly, a soft note of subtlety to his voice.

“I mean -- if she really loves me, you’d think she ought to show it, yeah? Maybe do more than just say it -- *once*! If she loved me, she would have at least asked to *talk* to me one time during the past soddin’ six weeks. If you love someone, you don’t just bloody let ‘em go, like it was nothing to you, just ‘cause you‘re too scared to do anything. ‘He’s been gone for nearly two months now -- oh, well, he’ll come back if he feels like it, if he don’t -- no big bloody deal’! That’s *not* how love works!” he declared, rising to his feet again.

“I agree,” Angel stated calmly. “You’re absolutely right.”

“I did everything I could to make her love me! I lost Dru because I couldn’t get her out of my bloody head! I followed her back to that bloody hellhole in Sunnydale, just to be near her -- granted, I planned on killing her at the time -- but I never really would have. Loved her even then, I did. And I did my best to show her -- soon as I knew myself. Took action about it, even if it wasn’t the best choice of action. I’ll admit chainin’ her up in my crypt was a bloody stupid move -- but at least I didn’t just say it, and then stand there and wait for her to make the soddin’ next move!”

“Until now.”

Spike was struck speechless by Angel’s unexpected words, and he stopped in mid-rant, staring at his sire, as understanding slowly began to dawn on him.

“No,” he objected, shaking his head emphatically. “No, it’s not like that, Peaches -- I’ve *done* my…”

“Do you still love her?”

Spike closed his eyes for a moment, wincing at the question, but ignoring it as he tried to go on, “*She* needs to do *something* to…”

“*Do you still love her*?” Angel repeated, slowly and pointedly, leaning forward in his seat to catch his childe’s eye. “It’s a simple question, Spike, with a simple answer.”

Cornered, Spike dropped his gaze, fresh tears welling in his eyes, as he admitted in a whisper, “Yes.”

“Then it shouldn’t be about whose turn it is to move their piece next,” Angel shook his head as he tried to make Spike see what he was saying. “It shouldn’t be about keeping score, or making someone pay. It should be about doing whatever it takes -- *whatever* it takes -- to make it happen.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Spike nearly sobbed the words out in frustration, tears streaking his face as he met his sire’s eyes again. “Don’t you think that’s what I’ve spent my entire existence believing and doing -- no matter who the bloody heartless bint in question happened to be at any given time…”

His voice trailed off, as he shook his head slowly in defeat, and whispered, softer, “I just don’t know if I can, anymore, Sire. I just -- I’m just so…”

Angel felt his own throat close with emotion at the word that sounded so sweet coming from his childe’s lips, the word that spoke of Spike’s unconscious desire for his guidance, his support -- and he could offer him no self-serving advice designed to keep him away from the Slayer he still loved himself. All he could do in that moment, was what was best for his childe.

“So what, Spike?” he asked gently, rising from his seat and moving toward where Spike stood, very still, but trembling slightly, in a swiftly failing effort to control his emotions. “You’re just so -- what?”

As Angel reached out a hand to rest on the smaller vampire’s shoulder, Spike lowered his head, closing his eyes against his tears, as he swallowed hard, and whispered, “Scared.”

Angel could remember a time when he would have viciously mocked Spike for that admission -- more than one time, as a matter of fact. But now, he kept his manner gentle and understanding, as he stepped closer, trying to get Spike to meet his eyes.

“Of what?” he asked him softly.

“Of -- of being hurt. Again,” Spike admitted in a tearful whisper, his eyes pointedly downcast. “Of going to her, and -- and finding out…”

“Finding out…?” Angel prompted after a few silent moments.

“That she -- that she didn’t mean it,” Spike struggled over the words, clearly trying hard to express a sentiment that he was not sure he even understood himself. “Or that she *did* mean it -- but she doesn’t really love me -- just thinks she does. Because how can you love someone and do the things she did, before? How can you love someone, and let them go through what she -- allowed to happen? How can -- how could she -- just let all this time go by -- and not even once -- not even *try* to…?”

After just allowing his childe to cry for a few moments, putting his arms around him gently, Angel drew back and met Spike’s eyes solemnly. “I don’t know, Spike. Those aren’t questions I have the answers to -- because I’m not in her head. No one knows what Buffy’s feeling, or why -- but *Buffy*. And I’m definitely not the person to ask about the inner workings of her mind!” He shook his head with a quiet, rueful laugh.

“No, you’re not,” a clear, soft voice spoke from the doorway, startling them both at the familiar but unexpected sound. “But I am.”

As both vampires tried to get over the surprise of seeing her there, standing in Angel’s doorway -- standing as straight and proud as ever, but with tear-filled, sorrowful eyes, and a certain brokenness to her manner in spite of it all -- Buffy stepped slowly, cautiously, into the room.

“So why don’t you ask me?”


	60. Chapter 60

No one spoke or moved for a very long moment, both vampires’ attention focused fully on the girl standing self-consciously in front of them, just trying to come to terms with the surprising fact that she was actually *there*.

“Okay -- somebody say something, please,” she finally said in a soft, trembling voice, ducking her head with a nervous laugh.

“Buffy!” Spike’s voice was barely over a whisper, his wide blue eyes focused on hers in a cautious, silent question.

After another brief moment of awkward silence, Buffy sighed heavily, biting her lower lip. “Okay,” she admitted softly. “That didn’t help much.”

“Why are you here?” Spike abruptly voiced the question in his mind, his expression solemn and intent as her eyes finally rose to meet his.

Buffy hesitated, not quite sure how to answer him -- and not particularly reassured by the blunt words. “Um -- I just -- I needed to -- to talk to you. I -- I have to tell you something -- I -- I *wanted* to tell you something…and…Angel, could you please leave?” As she suddenly turned to face her first love, the Slayer’s eyes were wide and pleading, and a bit apologetic for the slightly rude request.

Angel’s eyes betrayed just the slightest hint of hurt and jealousy at her words -- before he quickly suppressed it, and forced a bittersweet smile to his lips. “Of course. Just as long as…” His voice trailed off as he cast a questioning look in his childe’s direction.

Spike’s eyes never left Buffy’s, as he nodded slowly, immediately, in response.

“Right,” Angel nodded his acceptance with a sigh, looking back to Buffy. “I’m gone. I’ll be downstairs if you two -- need anything. Okay?”

“Thank you,” Buffy called sincerely after him as he walked toward the door, though her attention as well was focused on Spike.

In Angel’s absence, the awkward silence descended between them again, and suddenly each found that while they had not been able to look away before they had been alone in the room, now, it seemed that they could not bring themselves to meet each other‘s eyes.

“So to what do I owe…?”

“I’m sorry…”

They both spoke at once, and then glanced up at each other with a shared rueful laugh, before looking downward again.

“You first,” Buffy offered softly, a tentative half-smile rising to her lips.

“No, that’s all right, Slayer -- go right ahead.”

Buffy felt the urge to laugh and cry in that moment, because it was such a *Spike* thing to say, considering that he already knew from her first two words the general nature of what it was she had to say; and while the offer seemed to carry the air of “ladies first” gallantry, they both knew that he wanted her to speak first simply because he had been waiting far too long to hear what it was that she was about to say.

“I -- I’m sorry,” Buffy repeated, her voice a little firmer, more certain, though she still did not meet his eyes. “For -- everything, Spike. I just needed you to know that.”

Spike was quiet for a moment, before nodding guardedly -- and when he spoke, his words took her very much by surprise.

“Just how far back does that ‘everything’ go, love?”

Buffy looked up at him sharply, her eyes wide and startled. “W-what…?”

Spike still did not look at her, his own eyes wide and focused on the floor, as he swallowed back the swell of emotion in his throat, and concentrated on keeping his voice even and calm as he explained his question -- though, as he spoke, his voice continually rose with his emotions, until it was trembling and barely under control at all by the end.

“As far back as -- six weeks ago, when you -- wouldn’t listen to me, and nearly got me bloody well brain damaged a second time…or as far back as when you told me you‘d protect me, when all you really were interested in was protecting the Whelp from the truth of what he‘d done…or -- as far back as -- last year -- when you -- used me, and -- and tossed me aside like some bloody blow up doll that’d seen its better days…”

“All of it.”

Her softly spoken, anguished words stopped his rant, and he closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to get his feelings back under control, as she went on in a quiet, pleading tone of voice.

“Spike, I’m so sorry for all of it. I know I’ve -- I’ve done so many things to be sorry for, that -- well, I think we’ve both lost count,” Buffy admitted softly. “I -- I’ve hurt you. Over and over again. I never even started treating you like you -- like you deserved to be treated, not until after -- until…”

Spike suddenly looked up at her sharply, his eyes narrowed slightly, but welling with tears as he cut her off with a quiet demand, “When, love? *When* did you start treating me any better, because I must have missed the bloody memo on that one!”

Buffy’s eyes widened with astonishment then, as she shook her head slightly in confusion. “Well -- after you were hurt…”

“Oh, right,” Spike interrupted again, nodding with sarcastic understanding. “You mean the *not* bloody beating the soddin’ daylights out of the retarded vamp -- not using me for sex while I had the IQ of a bleedin’ stump…right…forgot about those amazing testaments to your compassion and virtue.”

Buffy’s eyes narrowed then, and she squared her shoulders, her jaw setting with anger. “I did the best I could, Spike. I’ve never dealt with anyone -- let alone a vampire -- who was in the kind of shape you were during those few days, Spike. So forgive me if I made a few mistakes, if I didn’t do every little thing like I should have. I *tried*…and that was all I could do.”

“Well, I know you didn’t have a bloody handbook on dealing with brain damaged demons, love,” Spike conceded, though his tone sounded nothing like a concession. “But I’m pretty bloody sure you didn’t need one to know that what you did was taking advantage of me!”

Buffy’s tone was indignant as she protested, “I never…!”

“You *knew* I didn’t want to do it!” Spike burst out in an accusing tone, stepping into her space, his eyes blazing into hers, as his voice trembled with anger and hurt. “You knew I was scared out of bloody mind -- what little of it I had use of at that moment -- and you still did your best to convince me to go through with it anyway. I was bloody well *terrified* of that ignorant sod -- as humiliating as that fact is now -- but it didn’t matter to you, all that mattered was clearing his bloody name! No matter what that meant putting me through! So forgive me if I have a hard time buying the whole ‘I love you’ line of crap…”

“I *do* love you!” Buffy declared angrily, her voice trembling with anger as she matched his forward step until their faces were inches apart, furious eyes boring into each other’s, trembling lips a bare inch of space apart.

Spike found himself suddenly focusing on her trembling lower lip, so near, so tempting, in spite of the circumstances. No matter what had happened between them, she was still the woman that had stolen his affections from his own sire, his reason for living for over a century -- the woman who had become more than an obsession to him over the past two years -- the woman he had returned to Sunnydale to kill, but would give his own life for if necessary now -- even now.

“You’ve got a bloody funny way of showing it,” he said softly, his eyes sorrowful and defeated, as he moved quickly a step or two backward, away from her, easing the rising tension between them -- tension of a sort that would not end well, he knew from painful experience.

Buffy saw his slight retreat, and looked away, her face flushing with embarrassment. She had not been deliberately trying to distract him from the issue at hand; it just seemed to *happen* whenever they were together, that words seemed less than an adequate form of communication for them.

Words *still* seemed far less than adequate -- but she knew that words were where they needed to start right now.

“Okay, Spike, let’s hold up a second here,” she suggested warily, holding up both hands in a halting gesture as she waited for him to reluctantly meet his gaze again. “Things are getting kind of -- out of hand, here, and -- I think it’s better if we both just calm down and start at the beginning…”

Spike was quiet for a moment, studying her expression, before he finally nodded in agreement. “Right,” he said softly. Then, with a sad smile and a shake of his head, he added, “Things always *do* seem to get bloody out of hand with us, don’t they?”

“They don’t have to.” Buffy’s eyes were glimmering with tears, as she spoke with a wistfully sad smile. “I mean -- I don’t want them to -- not anymore. I want to -- I want to work this out, Spike. I -- I meant what I said. I *do* love you -- so much. More than I ever knew I did…and no matter what it takes, I want to make you understand that -- make you believe me.”

Spike had no response for her earnest, clearly heart-felt words -- which were in such a contrast to the actions of the past two years, actions which had done nothing but prove to him again and again what Buffy had told him so many times that past years.

She could *never* love him.

And yet -- now she said she did.

He had wanted it too badly for too long not to at least give her the chance to go on.

“I want to believe you, Buffy,” he admitted softly, his voice thick with emotion, as he conceded a single step in her direction, meeting her eyes with a searching, barely hopeful look in his own. “I do…it’s just…I don’t know if I…there’s so much that’s happened…”

“I know,” Buffy nodded, moving forward to take his hand in hers, a bit too eagerly. “And I want to make it right -- I really do…please…please just listen to me, Spike. Hear me out.”

Spike could not bring himself to pull his hand from the warmth of hers, and he closed his eyes, fighting an inner battle, before nodding again. “Right. I’m listening, pet.”

“I’ll just start at the beginning,” Buffy declared quietly, her eyes focused on some point between them as her mind traced back over the years. “I’m sorry that I kissed you that first time, behind the Bronze.”

Spike looked up at her, startled and confused by her words. “Gotta say, love,” he admitted slowly. “Wasn’t exactly on my list…”

“I’m sorry because -- I was just using you. And -- I ruined our friendship,” Buffy clarified in a soft, regretful voice, not looking at him as she edged closer to him almost unconsciously. “You were there for me -- you were doing everything you could to help me through all of that -- junk I was going through…and I -- I think I messed that up, by -- by using you to feel the things I couldn’t.”

Spike was silent, taking that in. It was not something that he had considered as needing forgiveness, but he knew that she was probably right.

“I’m sorry that I was so -- well, that I was such a heinous bitch all that year to you,” she shrugged helplessly when she could not come up with any better description of the way she had treated him. “I’m sorry for every last time I hit you -- and told you that you weren’t good enough -- that you were evil, and could never be anything more than a monster…because you’re so much more than that, Spike…”

Buffy moved in closer, her wide eyes seeking his as she reached her free hand out to gently close around his, and he stubbornly kept his gaze focused on the floor, blinking back tears.

“…you were more than that way back then…and I just wouldn’t let myself see it, Spike. And I’m so sorry…”

“You were right about what I am, pet,” Spike pointed out softly without looking at her. “I’ll always be just a vampire…”

“You’ll always be a vampire,” Buffy corrected gently. “You’ve *never* been ‘just’ a vampire, Spike. You’re different -- and you always have been -- I just couldn’t let myself see it. Because -- if I saw it -- well, let’s just say it’d have thrown my whole world view out of kilter.”

“I s’pose Harris just did that anyway, didn’t he?” Spike murmured thoughtfully, glancing hesitantly up to meet her gaze.

“Exactly!” Buffy exclaimed in a breathless whisper, holding his gaze pleadingly. “That’s just what I’m trying to say, Spike! Everything is different now -- and there’ve been times these past few weeks when I thought that it would kill me -- but it hasn’t…and now…I think I understand some things a little better. Like -- being human doesn’t make you good. And -- and I think -- being a vampire doesn’t *necessarily* -- make you bad.”

Spike’s eyes widened as he looked up at her again, stunned by her words -- words he had never thought to hear from the Slayer’s mouth.

“I took advantage of you in the worst ways, Spike -- and all the time I was telling myself that it was okay -- it didn’t really matter -- because you weren’t human.” Buffy was quiet for a moment, her face a mask of pain and regret. “And that made *me* the monster. I see that now.”

“No, love,” Spike objected, with love in his voice -- because he could do nothing else. “You were never a monster…”

“I was. I was when I hurt you last year -- and I was -- when I refused to listen to you, back in Sunnydale -- when I -- pushed you into going along with my stupid plan. I -- I think -- deep down -- there was still that voice telling me that -- Xander couldn’t have done it. He was human -- he was my *friend* -- and there was no way that he would do a thing like that. And -- I know it was wrong -- but I think that somehow, I thought that made him -- matter more…but it didn’t. And I was so wrong to put you through that, when I knew how -- how scared you were, Spike…”

Buffy’s voice trailed off there for a few moments, as she sniffled back tears, and her grip on his hands became almost painfully tight, even as her hands shook with her effort to hold back her emotions.

Finally, she whispered helplessly, unable to find any other words, “Spike -- I’m just so sorry.” Tears streaked her face as she raised her eyes to his, a desperate plea in her honest gaze. “Please -- can you forgive me? Can we -- can we try to make this work? I -- I want to love you, like you deserve to be loved…will you -- will you give me the chance to try?”


	61. Chapter 61

“Please say something.”

Buffy’s voice was tearful, pleading, as she stared up at Spike through wide, glistening eyes -- eyes that were more open and vulnerable in that moment than Spike had ever seen them before.

“I - I don’t know *what* to say, love,” he explained quietly, a lost note to his voice as he shook his head, looking away from those eyes that he had been lost in so many times before -- those eyes that he knew held the power to shake his resolve and muddle his thinking until he would give her whatever it was that she wanted from him, even if he knew better.

Even if it was bad for him.

“I’m asking you to forgive me, Spike,” Buffy repeated softly. “I’m not asking you to pretend like it never happened. I’m not asking you to just go back to the way things were before immediately…”

Spike looked up at her sharply, an unspoken question in his eyes, his lips parted to object.

“*Ever*,” Buffy amended with an apologetic grimace. “You’re right…things *never* need to go back to the way they were before -- because I was never fair to you. Well -- at least not -- after you stopped trying to kill me.”

Those words earned her a half-hearted attempt at a smile, though Spike’s eyes were still troubled, still averted from hers.

“You’re right, Buffy,” he said softly without looking at her. “Things can’t ever be like they were again. I won’t let them be.”

Though there was a quiet sorrow to his voice, depths of emotion that had always been there, even when she had not wanted to see it - there was a subtle hardness to Spike’s tone as well -- a sound that told her that no matter what he felt for her, this vampire had learned his lesson.

The Slayer would have to find herself another sounding board that doubled as a punching bag whenever he happened to tell her something she didn’t want to hear.

Buffy felt old defenses start to rise within her, as an anger born of her hurt -- and the fear that she was losing him -- began to swell up in her heart.

“I know things were bad,” she said softly, a certain coolness coming into her voice, as she stared at him with challenging eyes glistening with tears. “But I’m not the only one who made them that way. You hurt me, too, Spike.” She paused, composing her words before going on in a voice of trembling steel, “I came back from the dead with a lot of hurt in me -- a lot of darkness -- and it seems to me you did your best to pull it out, any way you could.”

The vampire was still, silent, taking in those words and then nodding slowly in acceptance. “I know it,” he admitted calmly. “Though -- by your own bloody black and white, humans versus demons, Slayer logic -- you had a bit more to draw on than I did in making the right choices, now didn’t you, love?”

Buffy opened her mouth to object, but Spike went on before she could.

“I *tried* to learn, Buffy! I tried to be what you deserved -- what you wanted…” He paused, his voice softening as he continued, a bit self-consciously, “…tried to join you in the light…you just kept bloody pushing me out again. So -- I thought the only way to be with you -- the only way to -- to make you mine -- was to pull you into the dark, with me.”

Buffy was silent, stunned by his explanation -- and touched, feeling the hurt and confusion and desperation he must have felt back then…feelings she had not acknowledged that he had even really had, until this moment.

“Now, in hindsight,” Spike went on, a cold, melancholy note to his voice that sent a chill down her spine, “I know it was wrong -- and I’m sorry, Buffy. But it’s all I knew to do. I thought if I could make you embrace your own darkness -- you’d be able to look past mine…be able to love me. But -- all it did was hurt you -- and me.“ He paused, a humorless laugh leaving his lips as he concluded in an aching whisper, “Wasn’t bloody worth it, was it?”

A cold, empty fear started in the pit of her stomach, as she wondered at the meaning of his words, and realization of the possible consequences of her thoughtless actions began to dawn on her. Buffy swallowed hard, steeling herself for his answer as she drew in a deep breath and asked quietly, “Do you -- do you still love me?”

Spike did not answer for a long moment, his eyes focused on the floor, but he flinched slightly at the question, an ironic little smile that held no joy or pleasure forming on his lips.

“Bloody hell, Slayer,” he said in hushed voice, thick with emotion. “You don’t fight fair, you know that?”

“This isn’t fighting!” Buffy objected, shaking her head and moving in closer, anxiously seeking his eyes. “It’s a simple question…”

“No, love, it’s anything but simple,” Spike countered, glancing at her for just a moment before looking down again -- but that moment was long enough for her to see the lost expression of pain and confusion in his eyes.

“Really?” Buffy’s words were barely a breath on her lips, as she swallowed back a sob of regret, and of fear that her regret might mean nothing, now. “It seems fairly simple to me. Either you do or you don’t. Yes or no.”

She wasn’t pushing, wasn’t demanding an immediate answer -- just stating her opinion on the simplicity of the matter -- but although he knew that on some level, somehow Spike still *felt* like he was being pushed.

“See, that’s where your problem is, Slayer,” Spike muttered, pulling back away from her, needing the distance to clear his thoughts a bit. “Yes or no, black and white, no bloody middle ground…you want us to just *be there*, at the end of all the soddin’ heartache and drama, without giving me the bloody space to *get there*!”

“I’ve given you *six weeks* of space!” Buffy exclaimed in surprised frustration, and then immediately bit her lip, realizing the way her words must have sounded. Still, she didn’t stop before she had said all of them. “And from the sounds of things when I walked in, you weren’t happy with *that*, either!”

“That’s because I didn’t want you to just bloody well ignore me, as if I’d never existed!” Spike exploded, turning toward her again, blue eyes blazing with frustration. “I wanted…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away, shaking his head, unable to find words to express what it was that he wanted.

“You wanted me here,” Buffy concluded cautiously.

“No! I mean -- yes, I wanted you here…but…bloody hell, Buffy…” His words trailed off, and he shook his head again sadly. “It’s anything but simple,” he repeated, his voice soft and aching with the muddled emotions they both were feeling.

There was a moment’s tense silence between them, before Spike finally continued, looking up to meet her eyes with an intensity that nearly made her look away.

Nearly.

She held his gaze, bravely steeling herself to take whatever it was that he felt the need to say to her -- no matter how badly it might hurt.

“Yes, Buffy -- I forgive you,” he began slowly, cautiously, swallowing hard before he added softly, “*mostly*…but there’s a part of me that will never forget it. Never *can* forget it, probably shouldn’t. And that part hasn’t quite forgiven you yet. Yes, I want you here. I *always* want you here, Buffy…” He shook his head with a sort of bittersweet sorrow, before adding, “…but it makes it so bloody hard, too. It’s -- easier -- somehow -- when I can just -- put Sunnydale, and the Whelp, and -- and even you, Buffy -- out of my head, and just -- go on, yeah?”

It hurt, but Buffy nodded her understanding. She *did* understand that, even if the idea broke her heart -- the idea that putting her out of his mind completely made life so much easier for Spike, when she had so wanted to be the one helping to make things easier -- loving him through his healing process.

“I -- I *do* love you, Buffy,” Spike confessed softly, a single tear escaping his eye as he finally looked away from her. “Think I always have -- think I always will.”

He hesitated a moment, before looking back up at her, something deep and desolate in his eyes that stole her breath away, as he added in a whisper,

“Just don’t know if I *should*.”

Buffy couldn’t help but flinch at those words, and it took a supreme effort to fight back the defensive words that rose up in response within her. There were so many things she wanted to say -- so many excuses, explanations…pleas…but she knew she had to let him get this out, before she said her piece -- and she had to hear all of what he had to say.

“Loving you, Buffy,” Spike shook his head, the tears coming faster now, “you’ve no bloody idea how it feels. It’s -- raw, and intense, and -- and consuming, and passionate, and painful -- and it’s all I’ve bloody done for the past two years -- and -- and it’s nearly killed me.” He paused, before admitting in a whisper, “Don’t know if I want to stop -- don’t know if I’d even know how, or be able to do it if I did -- but…Buffy, even I can only take so much…and…when you chose him…over me…when you knew what he did…when you said you…you *loved* me…”

“Spike, I do love you!” Buffy could no longer keep her silence, moving in close to him, her own face streaked with tears, her voice choked with emotion. “I love you so much! I see that now! I know I’ve done a lot of things wrong, never treated you like I should have -- but things will be different now, I promise you, Spike!”

When she reached out to place her hands on his arms, in a gentle, beseeching way, he stiffened slightly, but he did not pull away, as he choked back a sob that rose in his throat.

“It might be too late,” Buffy sobbed softly now, lowering her head as her shaking hands clung to him desperately, terrified that he was slipping from her grasp despite her physical hold on him. “It might be too little, too late, now -- but I choose *you*, Spike. I choose *you*…please…”

Those tender, heartfelt words nearly broke the blond vampire, and he lowered his head toward her almost instinctively, his body expressing his intense desire to fall into the promise she offered, to accept the comfort of her embrace.

But that embrace had burned him before -- and he didn’t know if he could safely go back there again.

“Give me a chance, Spike,” Buffy whispered, lowering her head to rest against his chest, shamelessly pleading now, knowing better than she had ever known, that she would not -- *could* not -- give him up. She needed him so much. “Please, give me a chance to prove it. It’s not just words -- I mean it. I love you, and I want to prove it. Please let me…”

Spike could not speak, his voice choked off by his own sobs, as his hands rose of their own accord to rest at her waist, pulling her slightly closer to him, as his head fell forward to rest against the top of hers, his tears flowing down to dampen her golden hair.

“Buffy,” he finally rasped out in a voice thick with emotion, “if you -- if you really love me…”

Buffy pulled back, looking up at him with a wild hope in her tear-filled eyes, searching his gaze for the chance she had pleaded for, that he now appeared willing to give her. “Yes?” she urged him softly. “Please, Spike…anything…”

He closed his eyes, his head still bowed, his hands running up and down her arms, memorizing the feel of her silken skin, as he struggled to find the strength to do what he needed to do.

Questions still remained in his mind. He knew she meant what she was saying -- but did she really feel it, or was she deceiving herself? Could she really make the choice she was claiming to make, choosing him above even her closest friends? Did she really have the feelings she claimed to have -- or was she just afraid of losing the hold she had over him?

Did she love him -- or just love the way he made her feel?

“If you love me,” he repeated in a whisper that was still stronger than his previous words, “if you really love me, Buffy…” He hesitated, and then forced the words out on a barely audible breath, “…you’ll go.”

Buffy felt her heart skip a beat in her chest, as time froze for a moment, as she stared at him in stricken disbelief. Surely he didn’t mean for her to just *leave* -- not after she had finally seen the depth of feeling he still held for her? Surely he didn’t *really* want her to…

*But you’re thinking about what *you* want, Buffy,* a soft, sure voice spoke in her head with a clarity that had not often marked Buffy’s ideas about relationships -- and the voice sounded suspiciously like that of her own mother. *Not about what Spike *needs*. He loves you -- he’s told you that -- but he’s not ready yet. If you love him -- you have to honor his request. You can’t keep trying to control how he feels, what he does…*everything*. If you love him…you have to let him go…*

Buffy stared up into his pleading blue eyes, her own eyes welling with fresh tears, a hard ache swelling up in her chest. A bittersweet smile formed on her lips, as she raised a gentle, tentative hand to the back of his neck, and pulled him down slowly into a tender, intimate kiss that was still somehow chaste and unassuming.

A kiss that said that she wanted nothing more than just that -- a kiss.

He surrendered to it, tears of longing and aching desire streaking his face again -- and in that moment, Buffy knew in her heart that had she resisted his request, had she simply kept doing what she was doing, what she had become so good at that past year, she would not have had to leave. Spike would have allowed her to stay, and still would have accepted her back -- he loved her that much, in spite of his words, in spite of what the consequences could have been for his own heart, had he accepted her back on her own terms, rather than his.

But she *did* love him -- much too much to take advantage of his feelings for her.

Reluctantly, she finally pulled back, ending the kiss as she looked up into his eyes again, her smile firmer now, braver, and with a hope in it that had not been there before.

“You know where to find me,” she whispered softly, trying to put the whole of her heart into the simple words.

Spike opened his mouth to respond, his eyes shining with a depth of emotion that he could not have put into words -- but Buffy gently raised a finger and pressed it to his lips, shaking her head with understanding in her eyes.

“I love you,” she stated simply, earnestly, as she lowered her hand and studied his expression for one last moment -- as if it might really *be* the last moment.

And then, she turned without another word -- and walked out the door.


	62. Chapter 62

  
  


“Buffy -- wait -- what happened?” Angel tried to stop the tearful Slayer as she strode past him with a look on her face of broken determination. “Buffy…”

“I‘ll call you when I get home, Angel, I‘ve gotta go,” Buffy called over her shoulder, her voice trembling dangerously, as she hurried on out the door of the hotel and to the rental car she had borrowed to make her way to L.A. -- into the sunlight, where he could not follow.

It was perfectly clear to Angel that she was on the verge of falling apart -- and just did not want to be anywhere within his sight when she did it.

He watched her helplessly for a moment, frustrated that he could not follow her, before turning and striding purposefully up the stairs that led to his room. Spike was standing by the window, in the safety of the shade provided by the partially drawn curtains, watching as the Slayer‘s tires squealed against the pavement, and the unfortunate rental car lurched out onto the street in front of the Hyperion.

Neither vampire said a word for a long moment, though Spike was fully aware of Angel‘s questioning presence in the doorway. When he finally did speak up, his voice was thick with emotion, and barely over a whisper, though Angel heard him clearly.

“I’m a bloody idiot.”

Angel was quiet for a moment, taking in those words.

*What did you do?* had been on the tip of his tongue, but he wisely kept those words back in favor of a more tactful choice. “No, you’re not,” he argued quietly in a soothing tone of voice, as he moved cautiously nearer to his childe. “What happened? Why did she go?”

Spike did not answer at first, but then laughed bitterly in self-derision, shaking his head as he replied, “Because I told her to.”

Angel stopped a few feet behind Spike, considering those startling words a moment longer, before reaching a slightly less tactful conclusion.

“You‘re right. You *are* an idiot.”

Spike turned and looked up at him sharply, his blue eyes surprisingly solemn, and glistening with tears. “I had to. I can‘t -- I can‘t have her here. Not -- not yet.”

“Why not?”

“It’s just -- it’s just too bloody hard, that’s why not!” Spike burst out, turning away from the window and beginning to pace the floor as he went on. “She says she loves me -- and when she’s right here, in front of me, looking at me with those eyes and touching me and kissing me and…”

“I *really* get it, Spike,” Angel cut him off, a bit sourly. “No further details are necessary, really.”

“It’s just -- when she’s *here* -- it’s so easy to believe it…it’s almost -- it’s *too* easy,” Spike ignored Angel’s protest, going on with his attempt to make his sire understand. “I mean -- maybe it just seems so real -- her loving me -- because I *want* it to be real, yeah?”

“Do you want it any less when she’s *not* here?”

That silenced the blond vampire for a moment, as he frowned, considering that. “No,” he concluded. “But -- I think I’m not -- I mean -- I want her here, but -- I’m not ready, yet. To be with her. There’s things I need to figure out -- things I need to remember -- that once I go back to her, I’ll never take the time to think about again.” He paused, looking up at Angel with eyes pleading for understanding, as he finished in a voice of soft intensity.

“I need to finish coming to terms -- remembering who I bloody well *am* -- before I lose myself in her again.”

Angel nodded slowly, acknowledging the validity of what Spike was saying, and then opened his mouth to respond, hesitating slightly as he sought just the right words.

“If she really loves, you, Spike -- like she says she does -- don’t you think that maybe…she could *help* you finish working through the things you’re dealing with? I mean, I don’t know about you -- but I think if it was me -- the person I’d want to be with most -- would be the one I love more than anyone else. I mean, if they loved me too.”

Spike’s eyes lowered at the subtle note of pain in his sire’s voice, as he was reminded that the person Angel was referring to -- that person who was loved more than anyone -- was the same for them both.

The only difference was, she only claimed to feel the same way about one of them.

Him.

“I don’t know that she loves me too,” Spike pointed out, his voice low and slightly sullen, as he turned halfway away from Angel. “I know she *thinks* she does. Know she wants me. Wanting’s not the same as loving.”

“If all she felt for you was want,” Angel stated slowly and emphatically, as if the words were a struggle for him, “then -- wouldn’t she still be here right now?”

Spike fell completely silent, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the impact of those words, and slowly raised his eyes to meet Angel’s again, a light of understanding -- and dismay -- rising in his gaze.

“Bloody hell,” he whispered, sounding stricken, a troubled question in his eyes as they searched those of his sire. “Have I done the right thing?”

********************************************

“I’m telling you, Buffy, you did the right thing.”

Angel’s voice over the phone was calm, reassuring, and helped to soothe some of Buffy’s fears and uncertainties -- but not all of them.

It had been over a week since she had been to L.A. to see Spike, and she had not heard anything from him since then. Though she was sure that she needed to give Spike his space to get through this, a part of her had still hoped that he would change his mind, that he would decide that he needed *her* more than he needed space.

As she had walked out the door of Angel’s room that day, that part of her had hoped that he might stop her before she could leave -- and when that hope had proven false, that same part of her had hoped that he might show up at her door the next day -- and the day after that…and the day after that.

But here it was, eight days later -- and she had heard nothing from the blond vampire.

“Are you sure?” she asked, her voice sounding small and uncertain even to her own ears, as she worried her lower lip. “I mean -- you’re not just saying that because -- well, because it’s Spike, and…”

“And I’m so incredibly jealous that you want to be with him instead of me?” Angel’s tone was incredulous and sarcastic, without being hostile or mean-spirited. “Hardly, Buffy.” He was silent for a moment, before adding softly, almost wistfully, “Those days are a long ways behind us -- aren’t they?”

“They are,” the Slayer agreed in a quiet, sober voice. She hesitated, unsure whether or not to say what she was thinking, before deciding to go ahead and say it.

After all -- what had keeping secrets ever gotten her but heartache?

“Honestly -- I was more thinking along the lines of -- of maybe you were unhappy with the idea of -- of *him* wanting *me*,” she confessed quietly.

Angel was completely silent for a long moment before he finally spoke in a voice that held an odd note of panic.

“Come again?”

“I mean -- you’ve been so protective of Spike, ever since you came here. It’s like -- you suddenly remembered -- whatever relationship you guys had before. You know, the whole vampire-sire-childe thing…and I kind of got the impression…you didn’t really want me with him. Like -- you didn’t…thought I was going to end up hurting him again… somehow…or something…you know, the whole, ‘nobody‘s good enough for my kid’ scary dad kinda thing -- except -- scarier, ’cause you know -- vampire.”

Angel’s relief was obvious in his voice, and Buffy could not help rolling her eyes as he replied with a sigh, “Oh…oh…I see what you’re saying…”

“And,” Buffy went on, her voice sounding small and uncertain as she forced the words out, “you were kind of right. I kind of did…”

“Buffy,” Angel cut her off gently. “We’ve already been over this. It was a mistake. You’re sorry. You didn’t hurt him on purpose.”

“That time.”

Angel could not argue with her point.

Buffy let out a quiet laugh that was somehow harsh, though its harshness seemed turned in her own direction. “If you *are* feeling like a protective papa, and I’m the girl who’s not good enough for your son -- it makes sense.”

“You *are* good enough for him, Buffy,” Angel stated firmly. He paused, before adding, “I think you just needed to finally see that he’s good enough for *you*, too.”

Buffy felt a pang of guilt at those words, knowing that Angel was speaking the truth. For so long, she had believed that Spike’s vampire status made him somehow less than her, somehow undeserving of her love and trust -- and that stubborn belief had cost him nearly everything -- nearly his very life.

Now, she wondered why it had been so difficult for her to see Spike’s incredible capacity for love, greater than that of any man she had ever known -- greater even than that of the man she was talking to now, the man who had been her first love -- and who had made the choice to give up on their love, when things got too hard to handle.

She had long since forgiven Angel for his hurtful decision to leave, and accepted that in the end, it had been for the best -- but she knew that Spike *never* would have left her in that way.

No, it had taken her unintentional betrayal to drive him from her side…and even then, it was not with any definite certainty that he would not be returning to her eventually.

All he needed was time to heal.

*Just keep telling yourself that, Buffy,* she sighed inwardly at her stubbornly hopeful thoughts. *Maybe eventually you’ll actually believe it.*

She understood now, that Spike was far more deserving of her affections, her love, than she had ever given him credit for. Although she had refused to see it before, she now realized that he had proven his love for her, again and again, too many times to count -- and she had done nothing but to use that love against him.

“You’re right, Angel,” she admitted softly. “The question was never really whether or not he deserves me…he always has…”

*The question is whether or not I deserve to be with *him*.*

Although she did not speak the words aloud, Angel seemed to have a good idea that she was thinking them. “Buffy,” he began gently, patiently, “he just needs a little more time. It’s a lot of stuff to work through, and he just needs to do it with as little distraction as possible. He still loves you, Buffy -- and he’ll come back to you. You just have to let it be in his own time -- on his terms.”

As Buffy hung up the phone, she sighed wearily, leaning forward and resting her head in her hands, her elbows on the kitchen counter in front of her. She reminded herself that it had really not been all that long since she had been to L.A. -- just a little over a week. She couldn’t expect miracles -- couldn’t expect that Spike would immediately accept her words and come running, just because she wanted it so badly.

Just because he always had.

*Things can’t ever be like they were again, love…I won’t let them be…*

“I promise it’ll be different,” Buffy whispered under her breath, her heart aching with longing to see him, touch him, again. She could still taste the lingering sensation of that last slow, tender kiss in her mouth. “If he’ll only give me the chance to love him -- I’ll make it different…I’ll love him like he deserves…”

“You know talking to yourself is a sign of insanity.”

“So is slaying annoying little sisters,” Buffy muttered loudly enough for Dawn to hear her from the kitchen doorway. Then she looked up, an exaggeratedly thoughtful frown on her lips as she added, “Oh, wait -- no, that’s just normal behavior.”

“Ha bloody ha,” Dawn remarked, the words yet another reminder of the close relationship she still shared with the blond vampire currently consuming Buffy’s thoughts, as she sauntered into the kitchen and went to the refrigerator, opening it and peering inside for a few moments.

Apparently, she did not find whatever it was she was looking for, because she closed it without taking anything out of it, and turned around to face her sister again, whose gaze was once again focused pensively on the counter in front of her.

“He still loves you, Buffy.”

The Slayer looked up sharply, taken off guard by the unexpected statement, but she did not say a word as she fixed her little sister with a questioning stare.

“He does,” Dawn insisted. “He talks about you, like, all the time. It sometimes gets a little annoying in fact, he does it so much. He wants to come back. He’s just not sure he’s ready yet.”

Buffy sighed wearily, looking away again. “I’d like to believe that, Dawnie -- but I just don’t know…”

“I do,” Dawn informed her matter-of-factly. “Because he told me.”

Buffy looked up at her again in surprise -- which was suddenly compounded, by the sight of the familiar form standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room.

“You’re no bloody good at keeping confidences, Bit,” Spike informed Dawn with a wry smile that was still tinged with sadness, as his eyes met hers for a moment in a nod, before finding their way to the Slayer’s face. “And you’re wrong,” he continued to Dawn, though his gaze was fastened on Buffy’s. “He *is* sure he’s ready.”


	63. Chapter 63

  
  
  


“Spike…” Buffy’s voice sounded a bit lost, a bit distant in her own ears, overwhelmed with shock at the sight of him standing there, right in front of her, just as she had hoped.

Oh, God -- was it possible? Was it just a wishful dream?

“Spike!” Dawn echoed, her voice barely over a whisper, her eyes wide as saucers as her young mind rapidly considered the possible reasons why he might have shown up here so unexpectedly -- and with impressive maturity, concluded that her presence would not be helpful to any of those possible reasons. “I’ll just, um -- talk to you later. Homework, you know…” she shrugged.

Still, as she passed him on the way out of the kitchen, she couldn’t resist giving him a quick hug. “But if you leave again without talking to me first, you’re dust, Mister!” she added in his ear, before releasing him and heading up the stairs.

Spike couldn’t help a slight smile at her affectionate threat, his eyes following her momentarily -- but the moment she had disappeared up the stairs, the smile faded from his lips, as his serious eyes came to focus on Buffy again. His gaze was piercing, intent -- but Buffy did not look away.

Silent, barely daring to hope that he was actually there, he had actually come back to her, she walked slowly toward him, her eyes fastened on his, and searching…searching for something that she had feared was gone forever.

Except…Dawn had just said…

“You love me,” she whispered, and though the sound of the words was a statement, there was a hopeful, desperate question in her eyes. “You still do…”

Spike glanced downward at that, but quickly met her eyes again, his head lowered and tilted slightly, his expression softening. “I do, Buffy,” he admitted softly. “You know that.”

Buffy shook her head slowly, tears welling in her eyes, of relief, and regret, and the remaining traces of the fear that had filled her heart for the past two months. “I didn’t. I mean -- I wasn’t…sure…”

“Well -- that’s just because you’re bloody daft, then,” Spike shrugged matter-of-factly, though his mouth twitched upward slightly in the barest hint of a smile, “because it’s not as if I haven’t done every last soddin’ thing I could to prove it to you. Even if it killed me -- don’t think I could stop if I tried.”

“You -- haven’t been? Trying…not to…?” Buffy was a bit startled by her own voice -- hollow, and timid, and small, not a bit like the powerful, commanding Slayer she usually was.

At the moment -- she was simply Buffy…a broken-hearted girl, hoping for a second chance.

Spike shrugged again, his eyes dropping again to gaze at the floor as he admitted softly with a rueful half-smile, “Not very hard.”

The tears that had filled her eyes now flowed down her face, as she swiftly closed the remaining distance between them, her trembling hands reaching out to rest on his arms, her eyes lowered as she whispered in a shaky voice of relief and gratitude,

“You’re here -- oh, God, Spike, you’re really here!”

Her words broke off the moment her hands touched him -- and he abruptly took a step backward, away from her touch…away from *her*. She looked up at him, her eyes wide with startled hurt, questioning.

“I-I’m sorry…what…what’s wrong?” she whispered, hesitant -- not sure she really wanted to hear the answer.

Spike did not look at her for a moment, his eyes focused downward as he drew in a deep, steadying breath, preparing himself to respond.

“All right,” he began a bit nervously. “Okay. Buffy -- just -- it’s all right, yeah? I’m not -- mad, or -- or rejecting you, or anything like that, right? I’m just -- it’s just -- we’ve got to go about this right. There’s got to be some -- some -- ground rules.”

“Rules,” Buffy echoed uncertainly, taken a bit off guard by his reaction, as well as by the surprising words, especially surprising coming from Spike. “O-okay. What kind of…” Her voice trailed off, as she looked up at him again, shaking her head in confusion.

“Okay…I’m already bollixing this whole bloody thing up,” Spike sighed, rolling his eyes in frustration at himself, before looking back at her, biting his lip momentarily before setting his jaw in determination.

“It’s like this, love,” he tried again, holding her gaze firmly, though he was clearly a bit self-conscious about this whole conversation. “I love you. You know I do. But -- things can’t go back to the way they were before…”

“I know that!” Buffy eagerly broke in, taking a cautious step closer to him. “Spike, I know! I meant what I said before, and…”

“I know you did,” he interrupted gently, then corrected with an apologetic grimace,

“Leastwise -- I’m *tryin’* to know it. Trying to give you every benefit of every bloody doubt here, love -- but -- you need to know right now -- this isn’t going to be a bloody cakewalk, Buffy…”

“I know,” Buffy broke in, nodding vigorously. “I know it’s not going to be easy, but I’m willing to work at this, Spike! I’m willing to do whatever it is that you need, to make this…”

“What I *need* right now is for you to *listen to me*!”

The Slayer immediately fell silent, and Spike winced slightly, aware that his tone had been a bit harsher than he had intended for it to be.

“It’s just -- this isn’t easy for me either, Buffy…and I just need you to hear what it is that I have to say -- all right?”

“Okay,” Buffy replied, her voice sounding unusually meek and subdued. “I’m sorry.”

Spike sighed regretfully, his tone softening as he replied in a loaded sort of voice, thick with emotion, “I am too, Buffy. I am too.”

After a brief, tense moment, in which Spike struggled to find the right words, and Buffy struggled just to keep silence and let him, Spike finally went on, keeping his voice deliberately calm and even, through the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him.

“This is just -- the way things have to be, yeah? If we’re gonna make this work.”

“Okay,” Buffy agreed softly, looking up at him with a solemn expectancy in her eyes.

“Here’s the thing of it, love. I still love you -- but -- it takes a bit longer to get back that sense of -- of trust. That’s why I think we should -- try to go slow, yeah? Don’t rush it -- just -- sort of -- get to know each other again…”

“Okay,” Buffy repeated in a whisper, nodding her acceptance. So far, his terms did not sound all that bad.

“And -- and that means -- without all the bloody distractions that’ll have me losing my soddin’ head and falling at your bloody feet again in a week,” Spike continued, rather bluntly, meeting her eyes not without compassion, as he confessed softly, “Every time you touch me, Buffy -- I -- all I want is you -- and -- and yet -- I can’t just -- just jump right back in, because if I do -- it’s too easy to just slip back into the same old patterns, love. And I can’t do that. I *won’t*. So -- until we figure out how to just -- just *be* together again…I…I don’t think…”

His voice trailed off, as he could not quite bring himself to say what it was that he meant, for fear of hurting her worse than he knew he already had.

But Buffy knew what it was that he was trying to say.

“You don’t want me to touch you.”

The mingled hurt and acceptance in her voice made the vampire wince, before meeting her eyes apologetically. “I’m sorry, love…I don’t mean to…”

“No,” Buffy cut him off firmly, shaking her head and bravely holding his gaze. “You’re right. We don’t need anything to -- distract us. Or confuse us. Not while we’re trying to figure things out again.”

Spike studied her gaze for a long moment, a bewildered sort of surprise in his eyes, before he let out a heavy sigh of relief. “Thanks, love,” he murmured, his gratitude obvious in his voice, as he prepared to go on.

“Also -- whatever *does* happen between us -- even if we never get past the ‘talking buddies’ stage,” Spike smiled slightly at the reminiscent phrase, but then grew serious as he finished, “can’t be a secret, love. Not again.” Before she could interrupt him, he held up a hand to give her pause, and reassured her, “Now, don’t think I mean we can’t have *any* secrets from the Bit, and your mates. Bloody hell -- there’s a lot of things we’ve done I’d rather never come up in public, love…but…”

Again, his voice trailed off as he couldn’t seem to find the words.

Again -- Buffy found them for him.

She held his gaze firmly, compassion and regret in her eyes, as she interrupted in a soft, earnest voice, “I’m not ashamed of you, Spike. I was stupid to ever be, before. And no matter what happens between us -- I won’t make you my secret again.”

Spike nodded, swallowing back the hard knot that had formed in his throat, before looking up at her with a self-directed roll of his suddenly tear-filled eyes. “Right,” he cleared his throat, with an effort getting his emotions enough under control to go on. “Right, then…’s long as that’s settled. And -- and there’s more…”

Buffy nodded, instinctively shifting in closer to him, as her desire to comfort him rose up in her, compelling her to take his hands, to put her arms around him -- though she steadfastly suppressed the impulse.

Spike’s downcast eyes glanced up at her, and then down again, as he said, “There’s got to be -- some bloody respect, Buffy. Both ways, I know -- but it can’t be…you can’t just -- just put me down in front of your friends, when you happen to be irritated with me, or just have had a bad day -- and you can’t call me names and treat me like I’m less than human.”

Again, he hurriedly interrupted himself before she could -- though she had had no intention of disagreeing with his words.

“I’m *not* human -- but I’m not *less* than human, either.”

“I know, Spike,” Buffy whispered. “I know that now. I promise, I won’t…”

“And if you ever hit me again, Buffy -- all bets are off.” Spike’s suddenly piercing eyes, suddenly riveted on hers, almost made Buffy be the one to look away.

Almost.

She forced herself to face the pain, the accusation, and the barely veiled shame in his eyes as he called her on what she had long held to be the worst of her offenses against him, nodding slowly, solemnly, in acceptance of his words.

“I won’t be your soddin’ stress reliever-slash-punching bag. Not anymore. Sparrin’s one thing. But -- but you can’t…you can’t treat me like -- like I’m less than you, Buffy. Because -- I’m not. Being human doesn’t make you better -- and neither does being the soddin’ Slayer, either.”

Spike’s expression softened as he added in a near-whisper, “That’s not what makes you who you are -- not what makes you special.”

Buffy did look away then, feeling uncomfortable with his sudden tenderness, in light of the things they had been discussing.

“Well,” she replied quietly, her voice thick with emotion. “You’re pretty special yourself, Spike.” She looked up at him again, her wide emerald eyes breathtakingly open and honest as she added in a whisper, shaking her head, “I don’t want to lose you, Spike. I’m so sorry -- you know I’m so sorry for -- for all of that. And -- and there’s nothing you’ve said that I don’t agree with completely.“

She paused, before going on, “I’m willing to do whatever it is that you need to fix this, Spike. I -- I do love you. And -- and I don’t want to confuse you -- or -- or make things any harder on you -- but I want to be here for you, if you need me. I want you to know that I‘m here for you.” She hesitated, before adding, “I want you to *want* me to be here for you.”

Spike was silent for a long moment, looking at the floor as he finally whispered, “I do.” And, then, barely audible, “I need you, Buffy…why do think I’m here?”

Buffy felt an overwhelming sense of relief flood her heart, and she blinked back tears. “I -- I’m so glad you are,” she replied, with complete sincerity.

“Thank you.” Spike’s voice was soft, vulnerable, in that moment, before he glanced up to meet her gaze again, then looked away as the moment became slightly awkward.

“Right. Well…I guess I’ll -- see what’s become of my old crypt in the past few months. See if it’s…”

“Stay here.”

Spike looked up at her, startled -- and a bit apprehensive. “Buffy -- we can’t…”

“We won’t,” she cut him off, shaking her head matter-of-factly. “Not until you’re ready. But until then -- as my dear *friend* -- I will not have you living out in the middle of a cemetery in a crypt.” Her voice became both softer and firmer at the same time, her eyes narrowing slightly in determined focus, as she added emphatically, “You are *not* a monster, Spike -- and you don’t belong there. If -- if you want to,” she finished, her certainty leaving her with the cautious request, “you could belong here. You *do*, as far as I’m concerned…”

Spike felt his heart swelling up within him with a deep ache of longing and relief and fear and gratitude, all at once, all swirling together until all he could feel was his love for her, and he could not speak past the overwhelming emotions he was feeling.

“Please, Spike,” Buffy whispered simply, searching his eyes. “Please stay.”

Spike hesitated only a moment, before he nodded, swallowing back a sob, and managed to get the words out, “All right, Buffy. Thank you.”

Buffy nodded. “You’ll probably be most comfortable in the basement,” she remarked, clarifying immediately, “Not that you have to stay there. You’re more than welcome upstairs. But -- the whole…sunlight issue…”

Spike nodded, understanding. “Right. Basement’s fine, love.”

Buffy sighed, relieved. “Okay,” she nodded again, seeming suddenly a bit nervous. “I’ll just -- go and get some things together -- I’ll help you set it up…”

As she turned and headed toward the stairs, Spike stopped her with her softly spoken name.

“*Buffy*.”

She turned again slowly, looking up at him through strangely shy eyes.

His blue gaze locked onto hers, clearly speaking his depth of feeling for her, as he reassured her, “I *do* love you, pet. You need to know that. All this -- hasn’t changed that. It’s just…” He hesitated, looking away for a moment before meeting her eyes again and finishing, “…I’m just waiting on you to get there.”

Buffy opened her mouth to protest, shaking her head, ready to insist that she *was* there, she *did* love him, every bit as much as he…

And the thought dropped off there.

*Did* she love him, as much as he loved her? She knew that she loved him -- but that much? Spike loved more deeply, more fully, than anyone she had ever known in her entire life.

And didn’t he deserve the same from her?

She wasn’t sure if she had it to give -- yet -- but she knew beyond all doubt, that time would only bring her deeper and deeper in love with him.

She might not be quite there yet -- where he wanted for her to be -- but she knew that she would get there.

In time -- she would get there.


	64. Chapter 64

  
  


When he first laid down his list of rules for her, Buffy was certain that the “no touching” rule was going to drive her completely out of her mind before all was said and done. The other rules were all right -- perfectly fair, she had to admit -- but he had been back for less than thirty minutes, most of which had been spent in “serious talk” mode.

And all she could think about was how much she wanted to touch him.

She couldn’t believe how badly her body still seemed to yearn for him, even after so long apart.

*It’s not fair,* she thought, unaware of the petulant pout that had formed on her lips as she gathered bedding and other items to make the basement more comfortable for Spike.

*Yes it is,* that Joyce-like voice in her head returned firmly. *It is *completely* fair, so stop acting like a spoiled, selfish brat! He went months -- *years* -- without getting what he needed and deserved from you, while you got all the touching you wanted! Now it’s his turn to get what he wants and needs -- and the little nympho-Slayer will just have to wait her turn until he’s ready!*

As it turned out -- she didn’t have as long to wait as she had originally feared.

She and Dawn and Spike fell into a comfortable routine of sorts, as the days passed into weeks. Willow was still spending much of her time at the side of her comatose friend in the hospital, while Giles and Anya began to keep later and later hours at the Magic Box, despite the fact that the store wasn’t any busier than it had ever been.

Eventually, once they realized that everyone already knew what they had been up to, what they had been trying to hide for the past few weeks, they made their relationship public -- and were even less accessible to the others than before, now that they had a legitimate reason to be.

Mostly -- the Summers clan was on their own.

And these days, the Summers clan included Spike.

Gradually, without the complications of their former sexual relationship, Spike and Buffy began to develop an ease, a certain comfort with each other, that had never characterized their interactions before. Dawn’s presence actually proved helpful in speeding the process along, as both adults did their best to get along well for her sake, and her closeness with each of them automatically seemed to help to draw them together.

Also, Angel was still serving as a reluctant mediator and relationship counselor between them. Most days one or the other of them would be on the phone to L.A., at least briefly -- though it was more often Spike than Buffy making the call.

At first, Buffy was a little bit jealous -- until she began to notice that Spike’s conversations with Angel seemed to result in much better communication between the two of them, as Spike gradually began to find the courage to open up to her again, to talk to her about increasingly personal matters -- matters she had never had any interest in hearing about before.

That was when it hit Buffy, with startling, thrilling clarity.

They were becoming friends.

No, Spike had not really opened up to her about his ordeal, the things he had been through following the shooting; and they had not discussed much of their own personal issues yet -- but it had only been a few short weeks, and they were still getting used to each other again. Buffy knew better than to expect too much too soon. When Spike was ready to talk to her about those things, she reminded herself, he would.

She nearly cried with relief when she realized the progress they had already made, the trust that he was gradually placing in her again -- and she resolved again to respect the rules he had put in place, to not to anything to violate that fragile, cautious trust. She did not push him to share more with her than he was ready to at the moment.

And she did not break the rules.

Until she had no other choice.

On that particular afternoon, Dawn was off at a “study session” -- translated, “gossip fest” -- at her friend Janice’s house; and Buffy got home from her shift at the Doublemeat around four.

She experienced a momentary sensation of panic, as she walked in the door and saw Spike sitting on the sofa watching television -- and realized that they were alone. They had steadily become more and more comfortable with each other, but had rarely been alone together, without the comfortable, buffering presence of her little sister.

She almost tried to just slip past him upstairs -- but then he turned and smiled at her, and his smile was so warm, so open and reassuring, that all her fears seemed to melt away, and she found herself smiling back and heading toward the couch to sit down beside him.

*It’s just Spike,* she reminded herself firmly. *It’s okay to be alone with him. He’s your friend…you can handle this…*

And she was amazed and relieved to find that she could.

A comedy program was just finishing up, and she found herself laughing at Spike’s antics as he dramatically mocked the predictable actions and lines of the characters, rolling his eyes and making lighthearted sarcastic remarks that had her forgetting her initial discomfort completely.

When the show ended, the promo for the next program showed an ad for a made-for-TV mystery thriller movie, and they decided it might be interesting to watch. When Buffy got up to go into the kitchen and pop some popcorn, Spike followed her, casually chatting with her as she waited for the popping sounds from the microwave to slow down, and then placing a mug of blood into the microwave as she took the popcorn out. Without really being able to put her finger on just exactly why, Buffy began to feel a warm, comfortable sensation of contentment beginning in the pit of her stomach, spreading throughout her entire body.

It was all just so casual and ordinary and *normal*.

*Spike’s my friend…he trusts me…he’s my friend…* echoed through her mind in quiet exultation.

And for the moment -- his friendship was enough for her.

The movie was no better than the comedy had been, and they soon found themselves laughing together again, this time at the cheesy supposed-to-be-scary music, the predictable plot twists, and the over-acting of the endangered female lead.

They weren’t listening very closely, having much more fun making each other laugh at their witty comments and such, but the story seemed to be about a woman who married a man who turned out to be a serial killer. Of course, the ignorant woman had not figured it out yet in the movie, though her young teenage son had.

“Oh, yeah,” Buffy snarked, rolling her eyes as she threw another handful of popcorn into her mouth and griped around it, “because women are so clueless when it comes to anything important. It’s not like she’d *notice* the fact that there’s freakin’ *bloodstains* in his…”

Her words suddenly broke off as she noticed Spike jump slightly beside her, and realized that he had not heard a word she was saying. All at once, his attention seemed riveted on the television screen, and he was not even aware that she had stopped mid-sentence.

Knowing that it could not possibly be the sub-par story that had so gripped his attention, Buffy turned to frown at the screen in confusion.

The killer had somehow found out that the boy knew his dark secret, and had managed to corner the teenager alone in the house when the clueless, hopelessly stupid heroine was out doing some kind of inane “detective” work. Now, the dark, frightening villain had the boy up against a wall, menacing him with a gun in his face, snarling at him about what he would do to him if he didn’t keep his mouth shut.

With exaggerated, poorly acted terror, the young actor on the screen flinched.

Much more convincingly and poignantly -- so did Spike.

Buffy’s heart lurched within her, and she felt tears spring to her eyes, as she thought of what horrific memories must be running through the vampire’s mind in that moment -- images called to remembrance by those he was viewing on the television screen, images of times when he had been terrorized in just such a way -- by one of her best friends.

Spike’s body was very still, rigid, and his eyes were wide and focused fully on the scene playing out on the television, yet at the same time distant, focused somewhere else entirely -- somewhere that Buffy herself could not see.

Her hand was gently, firmly, clasping his, before she realized that she had moved -- and she winced slightly as she realized that she had broken one of Spike’s rules. In a momentary seizing of panic, she nearly pulled her hand back, would have in fact -- if Spike’s hand had not suddenly turned in hers, gratefully clasping it in a tight, trembling grip.

Reassured by his reaction, Buffy went with her instincts, shifting in closer to the vampire and wrapping her free arm around his shoulders. The hand attached to that arm held the remote control, and she changed the channel, remarking casually, “Okay. I don’t think I can take the stupidity anymore. Let’s find something a little more intelligent -- you know, like, Teletubbies or something.”

He didn’t look at her, his expression still somber and taut with his painful memories -- but Spike did laugh, a bit shakily, at her comment, as he tried to put the traumatic thoughts out of his head for the moment. But Buffy noticed, though she wasn’t even sure whether or not he was aware he was doing it, that Spike had shifted closer into the casual embrace of her arm around him, subconsciously seeking the comfort she had instinctively offered him.

Buffy found a light-hearted, but slightly less inane, sitcom on the television, and before long they had both relaxed somewhat again, the painful past a vague, uncomfortable presence in the back of their minds, but no longer at the forefront for the moment.

At least, Buffy *thought* it wasn’t -- until the telephone rang, and Spike nearly jumped out of his skin, muttering an English curse word in a startled tone.

It was Dawn on the phone, calling to ask if it was all right for her to spend the night at Janice’s house.

“We still have *sooo* much studying to do,” she insisted earnestly -- a little *too* earnestly.

“Yeah, I wonder why,” Buffy dryly remarked, rolling her eyes. But she sighed and relented, “I guess that’s fine. Just try to actually study a *little* bit -- okay?”

“Okay! Thanks! You’re awesome!” Dawn exulted, and Buffy could almost hear her little sister bouncing excitedly as she hung up the phone.

“I’m a bad parental figure,” the Slayer sighed as she returned to the couch and sat down beside Spike.

“No, you’re not,” he insisted with a reassuring smile, though his eyes still seemed distant, as if his mind was not quite on the conversation at hand. “You’re a questionable excuse for a partying college-age girl -- but you’re not a bad mum-type to the Bit.”

Buffy laughed quietly, letting out another sigh, as she leaned back against the couch again -- and realized that she was now faced with a dilemma. She had reached out to Spike, completely on instinct, in an effort to comfort him -- but now that she had gotten up, relinquishing that contact by necessity…she missed it already.

And now, she had no excuse to reach out to him again, no legitimate reason to break the rules he had put in place.

So *he* broke them.

Buffy was startled when Spike’s hand slid around hers again, gently caressing his thumb over the back of it as he turned sideways on the couch to face her fully. His deep, piercing blue eyes searched hers, apprehensive, and yet so painfully vulnerable, as he studied her gaze for a long moment before bringing himself to speak.

“Thank you,” he said softly, his voice and expression very serious. “Thank you so much, love. You -- you didn’t have to…I mean -- I’m such a bloody ponce sometimes, but you…” His voice trailed off, and he shook his head slightly, a self-deprecating smile on his lips as he whispered again, “Thank you.”

Buffy felt her throat close up with a powerful mixture of emotions -- sorrow and regret at the suffering that Spike was still enduring in his heart and mind, though he rarely spoke of it; gratitude that he was finally allowing her to extend the comfort to him that she had wanted to ever since before he had come back to her; and relief, such a powerful sense of relief, that he was finally allowing her to touch him, even in such a small way.

Her fingertips gently caressed his hand, as she replied sincerely, “Spike -- you don’t have to thank me. It’s not like I could do anything else. You -- you deserve nothing less from me…”

Spike swallowed hard, obviously wrestling with his own emotions, not looking at her, but squeezing her hand slightly tighter as he whispered in a hushed, haunted tone, “You’d think -- you’d think it’d be bloody well over by now, wouldn’t you? Think I wouldn’t -- still think about it so much…”

Buffy felt fresh tears well in her eyes, tears of compassion and sorrow at what he was going through, as she moved in close to him again, putting her arm around him. “Spike -- you may always think about it,” she reminded him gently. “I mean -- at least a little.”

Spike nodded grimly. “I’m beginning to think that might be true.”

Buffy was quiet for a moment before she asked him softly, “Spike -- how are you doing…*really*? I mean -- if you don’t want to talk about it that’s okay, but -- but you *can* talk about it, you know?”

Spike nodded again. “I know,” he replied. “I just -- I’m not sure if I -- if I’m ready for that yet, love…”

“It might help…”

Abruptly, Spike pulled his hand back, his jaw working with emotion before he turned away from her, and she could no longer see it.

“I’m sorry,” she immediately spoke up, alarmed at his reaction.

*You’ve blown it already,* she chided herself. *Stupid, pushy Slayer…*

“No, you’ve nothing to be sorry for,” Spike reassured her, his voice low and husky with tears, as he rose to his feet -- but he still would not face her. “It’s not your fault. I just -- I’m just not ready yet, Buffy. But -- but thank you…”

He stood there for a moment awkwardly, his back to her, before trying for casual again, turning back toward her, smiling under tear-filled eyes, as he said calmly, “I-I’m bloody exhausted, love, I think I’ll turn in early, yeah?”

“Spike…”

“Buffy,” he cut her off gently, finally meeting her eyes fully, with a depth of emotion that nearly took her breath, “love, really. It’s all right. You’ve not upset me, it’s just -- I just -- I’m tired, all right?”

Buffy knew it was a lie -- knew that he would go down to the basement and lose himself in his pain, if she let him.

She also knew that she had to let him.

“All right,” she said softly to his retreating back, as he headed toward the kitchen, and the basement beyond. “Let me know if you need me…I…I love you…”

The words had spilled out before she could make any logical decision as to whether or not it was wise to say them -- and Spike froze in the doorway, only a small part of his face visible to her, as his back was mostly to her. Still, she could see him swallow hard, his eyes shut momentarily, as he tried to hold his emotions together.

Finally, all he could manage was a slight nod, as he disappeared through the kitchen doorway.


	65. Chapter 65

  
  


Spike barely made it onto the basement stairs, the door pulled quietly shut behind him, before his tears overwhelmed him completely. He found himself suddenly gripping the banister with one trembling hand, nearly doubled over it, his free arm pressed firmly across his mouth in an attempt to silence the breathless sobs that rose up in his throat.

He had to keep it quiet; Buffy couldn’t know how bad off he still was, how deep the terror and shame still went, even after all this time.

She couldn’t know how badly he needed her -- not when by the rules of his own making, he could scarcely allow her to touch him. It was unbelievably tempting to him to just cast the rules aside, and accept the comfort she had offered him -- but he knew himself well enough to know that the moment he gave that over to her again, he would be lost to her.

And as much as he loved her, as deeply as he longed to be with her again -- he was still not quite sure of her feelings for *him*. It had been gradually growing weaker and weaker, fading away -- but his fear was still there, fear of being hurt again if he allowed her back into his heart.

He just wasn’t sure that he could take that step yet.

And until he *was* sure -- it wouldn‘t be fair to her to let her that close.

Once he had managed to regain enough composure to be sure that he could see his way down the rest of the stairs, Spike made his way down, and across the room, to his own comfortable bed that he and Buffy had moved there from his crypt -- the very bed that he and Buffy had shared so many nights -- long before this nightmare his unlife had become.

Back when it had been a different, slightly less complicated nightmare.

He collapsed onto the bed wearily on his back, one arm cast across his eyes again, as he pulled the blankets over his trembling body, and tried to suppress the deep shaking that had overcome him from the moment he had seen that horrible scene from that bloody awful movie upstairs.

Mentally, he knew that Xander was comatose, unable to ever pose a threat to him again -- and even if the boy were to ever awaken, Spike was free of the chip for good now, and back to his full physical strength. On a pure common sense level, he knew that he was safe now.

His shattered heart and spirit were not quite so firmly convinced.

All he had wanted in that moment upstairs had been to allow Buffy to hold him, as she had tentatively tried to do -- to allow himself to feel the safety of her protective embrace, reminding him tenderly that she would not allow such harm to come to him, ever again.

But how could he ask that of her, accept that from her, and then expect her to keep her hands to herself in the moments when he was not so needy?

*And when would that be, you bloody ponce?* he sneered at himself in derision. *You’re always needy these days…*

It wouldn’t be fair to her.

He couldn’t ask it of her.

*Bloody hell -- need her so much…*

It was only early evening, but Spike had not been sleeping very well lately -- and the overwhelming emotions from his encounter with Buffy downstairs only seemed to add to his exhaustion. Emotionally weary, he allowed himself to slide into sleep -- hoping against hope that this time, sleep would bring him rest and peace, instead of the deepening of his waking nightmare in his dreams.

 

**********************************

 

Buffy watched in helpless dismay as Spike walked away from her toward his basement sanctuary -- or chamber of torment, depending on whether or not it happened to be a good night.

Many nights, she could hear the muffled sobs and moans of Spike’s nightmares drifting up from the basement -- and she struggled each time with the uncertainty of what she should do about it. Everything in her cried out for her to go to him, to throw her arms around him and pull him out of his nightmares, to hold him and comfort him.

Except -- Spike did not *want* her comfort.

Every time Spike had a nightmare -- which, thankfully, was not every night, not anymore -- Buffy faced the inner debate of what to do. And inevitably, around the time she finally decided to forget Spike’s rules and make her way to his side -- the sounds of his suffering would stop. Sometimes it was abrupt, as if he had just awakened on his own in the midst of the nightmare -- and though she still felt the desire to go to him, Buffy’s nerve would leave her at the thought of facing him awake, at the bottom of the basement stairs.

Other times, his sobs would die off gradually -- and when Buffy went downstairs in the morning, she would find Dawn’s bedroom empty, and the basement door cracked open.

But Dawn was not here tonight.

And after that stupid movie -- Buffy was almost certain that tonight would be a very bad night for Spike.

And apparently, the night was going to come early, as well.

It was only seven when Spike went downstairs.

It was eight when the crying started.

Buffy had not moved from the couch in the last hour; when she heard the sobbing, she turned off the television, troubled eyes turned toward the kitchen doorway, and the basement beyond. She hesitated, her heart in her throat, remembering the desperate grip of his trembling hand in hers, as the soft, muffled moans grew louder -- almost panicked.

Buffy swallowed hard, rising to her feet uncertainly. The anguish in Spike’s voice pulled at her, drawing her slow footsteps toward the kitchen -- while the memory of his pulling away from her comforting touch, rejecting the comfort she had offered, slowed those very steps.

She stopped at the basement door, her hand against the cool, smooth wood -- but couldn’t quite bring herself to open it.

Not -- not yet.

************************************

 

The room was different -- not quite the upstairs hallway in Buffy’s house, or the total blackness that had been for Spike in the Initiative caves, but rather sort of a hybrid of the two, mixed in with bits and pieces from the room he had seen on the television screen.

In fact, the whole atmosphere seemed to have a surreal sort of quality to it. Spike was gasping for breath -- deep, ragged, gasping sobs -- though he knew that he did not need them. Or rather, should not have needed them; but somehow, it seemed that he did, as he raced through the dark, strange, familiar-but-not corridors of the dream house.

Also -- he felt smaller.

But then -- Xander’s presence always made him feel smaller.

His racing, panicked steps came to an abrupt halt, as the corridor came to a sudden end in front of him.

“Nowhere to go, Spike…”

He whirled around, stumbling backward in blind terror as the young man advanced on him, backing him up further until he was against the wall -- with nowhere to go.

“Come on -- you didn’t think you’d get away that easy, did you?”

“You call this easy?” Spike’s own voice startled him, hoarse and raw and trembling with tears.

“You’re not getting away at all. Ever, Spike,” Xander insisted softly, as he slowly, casually, kept moving toward him -- as if he had all the time in the world. “You don’t deserve to. You’re a thousand times the monster I ever was…”

The pistol was clasped easily in his hand.

Wake up! Wake up, you stupid wanker!

“Get away,” Spike gasped out, as Xander moved forward suddenly, gripping his throat in a vicious fist and slamming him back against the wall. “Let go of me!”

He was fighting, doing his best to push the boy off of him -- but the physical strength he had recently regained seemed to have fled him again. As hard as he tried, it still seemed effortless for Xander to hold him there, helpless against the wall -- and with each moment in which his panicked struggles failed, Spike felt the helpless despair and terror closing in on him again -- and he was back there, in the caves, blind and broken and utterly at the mercy of a man who hated him.

“I don’t think so, Spike,” Xander sneered. “I’ll never let go of you…”

“Please!” Against his own will, Spike found himself begging once again for mercy from his tormentor. “Please…don’t…not again…please…”

But the pistol was suddenly pressed to his temple -- and it was worse this time than it had been in reality -- worse than that moment in his crypt when Xander had originally pulled the trigger.

Because this time -- Spike knew what lay ahead of him.

“NO!” he cried out in panic and desperation. “Don’t!” And then, without conscious thought, he cried out her name…

“*Buffy*!”

Xander’s eyes narrowed in fury, and he brought the pistol down across Spike’s face, then jerked him away from the wall and threw him to the floor, standing over him as he sneered down at him in anger and mockery.

“She won’t help you -- you don’t deserve for her to help you! You’re a monster, Spike! You’re *nothing* -- just a filthy, disgusting thing!”

And then, the boy fell on him, straddling his waist as he plunged his fist into his face with brutal force, again and again.

“Filthy, evil, disgusting thing! You’re nothing!”

And suddenly -- the powerful figure above him, pounding into him with such violent rage -- was not Xander at all anymore.

“You’re beneath me! You disgust me, you evil, soulless thing!”

Spike felt the sobs wrenched from his body as *her* voice spoke those words that had haunted him for months, snarling down at him in disgust and hatred. The form above him flickered back and forth between the face of his tormentor, and the face of the goddess he had worshipped for so long now, as the rain of blows continued to fall.

But it was not the blows, but the words, that shattered his heart.

“You don’t deserve to ever be what you were again, Spike,” Xander snarled in his face, leaning down over him with a triumphant sneer. “You’re worthless…evil…broken…and I did the world a favor by destroying what you were. You’re mine now -- and I’ll *never* let you go…”

“Buffy,” Spike sobbed, closing his eyes against the hate-filled face above him, willing it to be hers again -- because if only it was her, then he could stand it. He could believe that he deserved those words, coming from her -- and he could accept his punishment as due, from her hands. “Buffy, please… please, love…I know I deserve it…but help me…help me, please…”

And suddenly -- Xander was gone.

And Spike was not lying on his back on the floor anymore, but sitting up, and cradled in her arms. He could feel her warm tears as they flowed from her eyes, down onto his own face.

“No,” she assured him in a soft voice thick with tears. “Spike, you didn’t deserve it…you never deserved it. God, I’m so sorry -- so sorry, Baby -- I’ll never hurt you again, Spike -- no one will ever hurt you again…”

As she shifted around him, a moment of panic overcame him, at the thought that she might leave him. “No,” he gasped out, clinging to her. “Buffy, no, I need you…need you so much…don’t go…don’t let go…”

“I won’t,” she whispered, and he felt the sweet pressure of her soft, damp lips against his brow, his cheek, and finally his lips, in a series of swift, intense kisses, as she pulled him closer into her arms. “Spike, I won’t let go -- I’ll never let you go, Sweetheart…I…I love you…” she whispered against his ear, as the room shifted and faded around him, until all it was, was the cool, dark basement of Buffy’s house…

************************************

 

“I love you, Spike…I love you so much,” Buffy sobbed against him, trembling arms clutching him to her desperately, as if afraid to let him slip away from her again. “I’m so sorry, so sorry, Sweetheart…”

“Don’t leave me, Buffy…need you, love, so much…” The vampire’s words were muffled against her shoulder, as his hands gripped at the soft fabric of her shirt, clasping her against him with desperation to equal her own. “Please…don’t…”

“Shhh,” she soothed him, not quite sure whether or not he was awake yet, but relieved that he seemed aware of her presence -- and not upset by it. Gently she stroked back a loose lock of damp blond hair, leaning down to look at his face as she added in a tender whisper, “I’m right here…I’m right here, Spike, I’m not going anywhere…”

His eyes blinked several times, a look that was a bit lost and hazy in them as they finally opened fully, locking onto her face with an expression of confusion and uncertainty -- and then alarm, as he glanced down to see that they were on his bed, her seated against the headboard, with him half-lying, half-sitting, resting in her embrace.

Shaken, he drew back away from her, back-pedaling hurriedly across the mattress until his back was against the wall at the side of the bed.

“I-I’m sorry, Buffy,” he stammered out, looking anywhere but at her face. “I -- I shouldn’t have…I mean…I…”

“Spike,” she cut him off gently, shaking her head as she moved across the bed to kneel in front of him, seeking his averted gaze. “You didn’t do anything! What are you sorry for, Spike?”

“I shouldn’t have -- I mean -- this…” He gestured vaguely between the two of them and down at the bed, rolling his wide, troubled eyes before finally meeting her gaze with an apologetic little grimace, “…will only make things harder, love, and I want you to know I didn’t mean to…”

“Harder for who?”

Spike was silent for a moment, taking in the question, before shaking his head slightly and asking, “I’m sorry, what…?” He still seemed a bit dazed from the dream, and his sudden waking.

Buffy’s expression was firm, determined, as she bravely faced him -- suddenly certain that she could not let this opportunity pass -- not without making things clear between them.

“Who’s it harder for, Spike? You or me?” she pressed gently, searching his gaze for the answer. “Does it -- make it harder for you? Being close to me at all?” She paused, a flicker of pain flashing across her face as she asked more softly, “Would you really rather not have me touch you at all -- even like this -- if we can’t have the rest? Because -- because that’s not what you were saying a few minutes ago.”

The last statement made her flinch even as she said it, suddenly certain that she had crossed a line with it.

Spike flinched too -- but then his shoulders fell slightly and he relented with a sigh. “No, Buffy,” he admitted. “I -- I need you. I need to be close to you. Sometimes I think -- I think I’ll never get through this, without…” His voice trailed off, and he looked away, shaking his head and blinking back tears.

Instinctively, Buffy reached out her hand to take his, clasping it firmly as she leaned in closer, tilting her head in an attempt to meet his eyes again. “Then why not accept this, Spike?” she asked him in a near whisper. “I’m not asking for anything more than this -- all I want is to help you through this -- why don’t you just let me?”

As she spoke, her free hand drifted to his waist, and she felt his body trembling slightly under her hand, even as he leaned unconsciously closer to her, his breath speeding up slightly as he closed his eyes and lowered his head toward her shoulder. Her hand at his waist rose to the back of his neck, gently pressing his head down against her shoulder.

“It’s okay, Spike,” she assured him softly. “This is okay. Don’t worry -- I can take it…I can take this…and not take anything more…”

For a moment, she thought he had relented -- until he suddenly pulled away from her, pushing her hands away as he drew back against the wall again.

“*No*!” he stated emphatically, shaking his head. “Buffy, I can’t -- it’s not fair to you…”

“What about what’s fair to you, Spike?” she countered, eyebrows raised in a challenge. “I thought that’s what these rules were all about -- wasn’t it? What’s fair to you, right for *you*, for a change?”

“That’s not all it’s about…” Spike muttered, looking away from her.

“Okay…then, if you’re doing this so it won’t be so hard on *me* -- how do you think it makes me feel, to see you like this…*hear* you like this, night after night?” Buffy’s voice was trembling now with a mixture of anger and pain. “How do you think it makes me feel, to want so bad to help you -- to be there for you, to make up for all the damage I’ve done -- when you won’t even let me touch you? Won’t let me so much as hold your hand, Spike?”

He was silent, swallowing back whatever response he had thought about making, shaking his head slightly in the beginnings of denial.

“You want to be fair to me, Spike?” Buffy asked softly, her voice calmer, but still trembling. “You want to do what’s right by me? Then let me make up for what I’ve done. Let me do what I can to make things better.” Her voice lowered to a bare whisper, as she reached cautiously out for his hand again.

And he let her take it, though it was shaking violently by now.

“Let me be your friend, Spike. How can I ever prove to you that I really love you -- if you won’t *let* me love you?”

The tremor seemed to pass from Spike’s hand -- now clutching hers tightly, desperately -- up through his entire body, and then out again in shaking sobs that he did his best to repress.

“Buffy -- what do you want from me?” he whispered, broken and confused, at a loss as to what was the right thing to do. “I can’t -- I’m not ready for…” He shook his head, knowing that she knew what he meant, as the ability to speak seemed to leave him for the moment.

“No,” she whispered her agreement, shaking her head. “Not yet. Not that, Spike. Just -- just this…”

Cautiously, almost reverently, she leaned forward on her knees on the mattress, her arms gently stealing around him, pulling him away from the wall, and into her embrace. Unresisting, Spike allowed her to pull him with her as she sat back against the headboard again, relaxing with a deep breath, and cradling his trembling body against hers.

“See?” she whispered into his ear, relieved as she felt his shuddering breaths becoming gradually deeper, more even, as his body began to relax against hers. “This isn’t so bad, or confusing, is it? Just me and you, Spike. No -- no complications. Just me -- holding you. Loving you. That’s it. Is -- is this okay?”

He barely nodded, the side of his face resting against her chest, his eyes slipping closed again as his hands rested at her sides -- and sleep slowly began to claim him again with his immense sense of relief.

“See,” she whispered, leaning her own head back against the headboard and settling in a bit more comfortably, closing her eyes and nestling closer to him. “I can’t be in your nightmares -- if I’m right here -- can I?”

But Spike was already asleep again, safe in the arms of love.


	66. Chapter 66

When Dawn walked into the living room the following afternoon, just having returned from school -- she was both stunned and amazed by the strange sight that met her eyes.

The television was on, quietly, showing some vapid talk show host introducing a panel of guests who looked like the population of the local trailer park, while a colorful little box in the bottom left hand corner of the screen proclaimed proudly, “My boyfriend cheated on me with my mother -- and my sister!”

But as shocking as that statement was, it was not what had gained the attention of the youngest Summers.

Dawn had no way of knowing how the evening before had gone for her sister and Spike -- how the two of them had ended up falling asleep in each other’s arms far before they usually would have gone to bed, and how that had resulted in their waking up in the pre-dawn hours of that morning -- and how that unusually early rising had resulted in the impromptu nap on the couch that had overtaken them both about an hour earlier.

All Dawn knew was that Spike and Buffy were sound asleep on the couch, Buffy’s head rested comfortably against his chest, and Spike’s hand still, but tangled lightly in her soft blonde hair.

They were *together*.

Touching.

“Finally,” she muttered, rolling her eyes and heading for the stairs to do the homework she had completely neglected the night before, in order to be able to turn it in the next morning -- only one day late.

*Oh, well -- sleepovers aren’t meant for studying, anyway…*

She had seen the tension building between them over the past few weeks; it had been completely obvious that they were both just forcing themselves to hold back from touching each other. Buffy had been desperate to reach out and comfort Spike, but afraid that he would reject her attempts; and Spike had clearly been aching for that comfort, but afraid of what accepting it might mean for their fragile, tentative friendship -- and whatever might come beyond it.

She had no idea how, in one night of her absence, they had managed to get past those things -- but she was very, *very* glad that they had.

 

**************************************

 

“How would you feel about a movie tonight, love?”

Buffy glanced up at Spike in surprise across the kitchen counter, as she placed a warmed mug of blood in front of him and reached for the sandwich she had already made for her own lunch. With an effort, she kept her expression calm and even, trying very hard not to get her hopes up too high. But…

*Is he -- is he asking me out on a *date*?*

It had been almost a month since that fateful night when Spike had finally accepted her comforting arms around him, finally decided to allow her to be close again -- and over the course of that month, that closeness had become more and more comfortable between them.

It was nothing, now, for one of them to reach out to the other in certain moments -- a light squeeze of the shoulder, a brief (or not so brief) grasping of one’s hand, a gentle hug to show support for what the other might be going through…all were quite common by this point, and gratefully accepted by both. Their tentative friendship had developed into a bond that was close and intense and deeper than what one might call “just” friendship.

A month ago, Buffy had never expected to have this much with Spike again.

Problem was -- she was finding it harder and harder not to want so much more.

And there had been moments in which it had seemed as if things were going to change between them, move to a level that they had deliberately avoided thus far -- moments when the two of them would find themselves alone, and some look passed between them, some sequence of tender words, would draw them into a place so sweet, so intimate…

But then, without fail, Spike would abruptly withdraw.

Oh, certainly, much more kindly than before. He would make a gentle joke, or playfully tickle her -- something to effectively disarm the building situation, turning it into something much more harmlessly friendly, without hurting her feelings in the process.

At least -- he didn’t *know* that he was hurting her feelings.

Apparently, he didn’t know how badly she wanted the intimacy that he had been so consistently rejecting.

*Until -- until now?* she wondered, biting the inside of her lower lip as her mind raced to decide how best to respond to his question.

*It’d be easier if I knew exactly how he *meant* the question,* she thought ruefully. *Does he -- is he really trying to ask me out on a date?*

“Um -- that sounds nice, actually,” she replied finally, careful not to sound too overly excited at the prospect. “It’s been a while since I’ve been out for an evening -- you know -- slaying aside.”

“Yeah, that’s sort of what I was thinking,” Spike nodded with satisfaction, taking a sip from his mug before meeting her gaze. “I haven’t been to a movie theater since -- well, since the first days of Technicolor,“ he laughed ruefully. “And I know I’d like to -- and I’m sure the Bit could use a little time with us, yeah? She’s been spending entirely too much time with that little Janice bint.”

Buffy blinked, but gave no other indication of her surprise at the implications of that statement -- or her disappointment.

*So -- not a date then…*

“You’re right,” she agreed sincerely -- because she really did agree with him about Janice -- but she fought to keep the tears from her eyes as she casually continued the conversation. “I don’t like that girl, she’s nothing but trouble for Dawnie. But -- if I forbid her from seeing her, it won’t stop her, will it?”

“No,” Spike agreed with a grim sigh. “She’ll still find a way to do what she wants, if she wants it bad enough. Best bet is just to keep her distracted when we can, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Buffy agreed. “Yeah -- a movie sounds good. What should we see?”

 

*********************************

 

A few hours later, the three of them were making their way down a darkened hallway into the crowded movie theater, with the advantage of Spike’s enhanced vampire sight to lead them. Dawn walked ahead of Spike, guided by his hand on her shoulder, while Buffy trailed slightly behind him, her hand clasped lightly in his, in order to keep them together until they reached their seats.

She was almost disappointed when they did.

*Not a date…not a date…* she kept reminding herself firmly -- but she found that once she had gotten the idea into her head, her heart did not seem willing to part with it.

The only seats that seemed to be left in the crowded room were a few at the end of an aisle near the back of the theater -- and there were only two together, though there was one directly in front of those two. It seemed to be as close as they were going to get to the three of them sitting together.

For Buffy -- it was more than close enough.

It seemed that Dawn felt about the same way, as she immediately took the single seat in front, without glancing back, as her sister and Spike exchanged a strangely shy look, before smiling a bit awkwardly and sitting down behind her.

Buffy already could feel the disappointment of loss, expecting to lose the contact of his hand in hers now that they had found a seat, and there was no further need for it.

Except -- that loss didn’t happen.

Spike’s hand stayed wrapped gently around hers, resting on the armrest between them, his thumb stroking lightly over the back of her hand, even as his eyes focused calmly on the wide screen in front of them. He did not even seem aware of the gesture, as if it was a simple act of friendly affection, the same as he might have offered to Dawn, had she been sitting beside him instead.

*God, does he *know* what he’s doing to me?* Buffy wondered with a mingled sensation of joy at the contact, and frustration at how he likely *saw* that contact. *Just my friend…he’s just my friend…stupid Buffy…watch the movie…just watch the movie…*

It was a dark horror film that would have been frightening, had the three of them not been so familiar with the real horrors that surrounded them all the time. Really, Buffy had to admit that the special effects were quite well done, and her fifteen-year-old, pre-calling self would have found it quite terrifying. She was vaguely aware of the fact that if circumstances had been different, she never would have allowed her younger sister to witness the bloodshed and intense horror of the film they had chosen.

But while the others movie-goers cringed and covered their eyes, Dawn stared at the screen with a vaguely bored expression on her face, idly tossing popcorn into her mouth.

She had seen much worse than this in her two years of actual existence.

After a few moments she rolled her eyes with a weary sigh, turning in the pitch blackness of the theater toward her sister and her surrogate brother, squinting slightly as her eyes took a bit to adjust to the darkness, due to the rather small amount of light generated by the dark movie scene in front of them.

“Please,” she hissed in a stage whisper. “I’ve seen real monster blood, and that doesn’t even come *close* to looking real! I mean, you’ve squashed bugs with better guts than that! Of course -- they were demon bugs the size of rabbits, but…”

Dawn’s voice trailed off, as her eyes finally adjusted -- and she realized that Spike and Buffy had been taking full advantage of the scant lighting in the room, focusing almost entirely on either other…and also that neither one seemed to be aware she had even spoken at all.

Smiling to herself, she turned around and did her best to pay attention to the rather inane and entirely not scary movie.

“Come on,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s like they’re not even trying…”

 

*******************************

*Don’t try too hard, Buffy,* the Slayer was silently urging herself, trying as hard as she could not to completely lose herself in the intent, earnest gaze of the vampire at her side. *Just -- just let him take the lead here -- let him decide when he’s ready…*

They had been talking softly in whispered tones since they had taken their seats, and the quiet, soft intimacy of the darkness and whispers and closeness was having a definite effect on both of them. The movie went mostly ignored, as they found themselves edging closer to each other, gradually losing themselves in each other’s presence, as they had done so many times before.

Except -- this time -- the moment seemed to stretch on just a tiny bit longer…

Whatever Spike had been saying -- which Buffy had not really been hearing, anyway -- slowly faded away, as his eyes drifted from hers to her soft, slightly parted lips, and he found his body instinctively leaning him toward her, and hers pulling her insistently toward him, until their lips were no more than an inch apart, both sets of wide eyes focused with longing apprehension on the elusive point of contact that was not yet.

“Buffy,” Spike whispered suddenly, pulling just slightly away from her, though they were still close enough that she could feel the cool brush of his breath against her own lips -- and both knew what was coming, if they allowed it to come. “Buffy, love…maybe we should…”

“What?” Buffy cut him off in a hoarse, almost desperate whisper, her wide eyes of darkened jade glittering in the darkness, inches from his own. They were so close, and she wasn‘t sure that she could make herself deny it again. “Wait? Spike, we’ve *been* waiting…how long do you want to wait?”

She inwardly cringed at her own words the moment after she had spoken them -- but she was not exactly sorry that she had let them out.

“I -- I don’t know,” he whispered, breaking eye contact with her, swallowing hard as he drew back a bit further. “Buffy, I -- this isn’t the place…”

Buffy hesitated a moment, warring parts of her heart and mind telling her both to back off, to allow him to make the decision as to whether or not their relationship might move further at this point -- and to take the initiative and push just that tiny bit that her instincts were telling her it would take to move them forward.

As always -- she found that she was a woman of action.

Her lips set firmly as she tightened her hand slightly around his and rose to her feet, pulling him to his own and out into the aisle before he could even begin to protest. As she started to pull him gently but insistently toward the back exits into the hallway, Spike finally seemed to find his voice again.

“Buffy,” he whispered loudly. “What are you…?”

“Come on,” she replied in a stage whisper to match his. “We need to talk this out.”

“Talk *what* out?” he replied, his jaw setting stubbornly as they came to a halt in the darkened, empty hallway. “We’re going to miss the movie…”

“Oh, like you were actually watching it!” Buffy countered, her eyebrows raised in a challenge as she met his gaze.

  
“Maybe I was!” Spike shot back defiantly.

“What’s the main character’s name?” Buffy demanded without hesitation. When Spike could only sputter out a non-answer to the rather simple question, she continued, “Half an hour into the stupid flick and you don’t know *that* much -- seems to me it’s too late to start watching it now! We have more important issues to handle right now, Spike.”

“Like what?” Spike countered, not quite meeting her eyes, as he sighed heavily, and leaned back against the wall behind him.

“Like why every time something like this happens, you pull away from me, even when you know we both want…something else.”

“ ‘We both’?” he echoed in a tone that was slightly more scathing than he had intended it to be. “You and who else, love?”

Buffy flinched, though she knew deep down that he hadn’t meant the words. “So you *didn’t* want to kiss me just then,” she concluded softly, flatly, certain in a part of her heart that the words were false -- but just enough afraid that they might be true to make her vulnerable and uncertain, as she raised her hesitant eyes to his again.

As always, Spike was lost to the hurt and need in her eyes.

He sighed heavily in frustrated defeat, as he shook his head and whispered, “You know I want to, Buffy. Bloody hell, you *know* that!”

Buffy’s eyes lit up with hope as she took a firm, deliberate step closer to him, her lesser height making it easier for her to catch his reluctant gaze. “Then why won’t you?” she whispered.

There was a long moment of silence, stretching on until Buffy was not sure that Spike was going to answer at all.

“I’m just -- not sure we’re ready…”

“Let me clear up at least half of that for you,” Buffy broke in matter-of-factly. “I’m ready. I’m readier than ready. I couldn’t possibly *be* any more ready. So -- you’re just not sure *you’re* ready -- is that it?”

“Right,” Spike conceded, rolling his eyes with rising agitation as he stepped away from the wall, moving slightly into her space. “S’pose that’s what I’m saying, yeah!”

Buffy was quiet for a moment before asking almost timidly, “Why not? Do you -- do you not trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, love,” Spike replied softly, a smoldering fire in his blue eyes as they locked onto hers intently. “I’ve slept in your arms every night for the past month. I’ve told you things…” His voice trailed off, and he began again after taking a moment to strengthen his composure, repeating, “…of course I trust you, Buffy.”

“Then -- are you not sure -- you love me anymore?” Buffy’s next question was barely over a whisper, and made her suddenly sound very vulnerable.

Spike stared at her dubiously for a moment, before remarking flatly, “If you believe that, love -- then you’re bloody daft. You know I love you -- always will.”

“Then -- if you love me -- and you trust me -- then what’s holding you back?”

“I-I’m just not sure, Buffy. I don’t feel ready…”

“Ready to what? Go on with your life?” Buffy demanded, her voice rising with slight agitation.

Spike was silent for a moment, before taking them both by surprise with his quiet, slightly startled confession, “Well -- yeah.”

Buffy blinked, surprised, and then drew in a deep breath. “Well,” she replied finally, her voice soft and even -- all of her frustration seemingly vanished with that simple, honest admission, “the funny thing about that is -- short of staking yourself or walking out in the sun, you haven’t really got much of an option about that…and those aren’t options either!” she hastened to add, giving him a severe look that softened as quickly as it had arisen, as she continued, “I wouldn’t let you do that -- any more than you would have let me dance myself to death that night last year. What was it you told me? About -- going on living?”

She knew that she had touched a nerve, when he looked away from her a bit uncomfortably, shrugging slightly as if he did not remember.

But she knew that he remembered.

She had never forgotten.

“Something about how -- no matter how bad it seemed then -- I’d get through it -- because that’s just what you have to do -- you have to go on living, Spike.” She paused, moving in closer to him, encouraged when he did not attempt to move away from her. She was silent, waiting, until he reluctantly met her eyes, and she added softly, “You may never *feel* ready, Spike. That’s why you just have to decide to *be* ready -- to move on, and leave the past behind. Oh, I know it’ll always be there in a way, but you *can* live through it. You just have to let yourself go on.”

She was quiet for a moment again, swallowing hard in an attempt to suppress her own rising emotions -- emotions so powerful that they would have kept her from saying what she had to say -- and she *had* to say it.

“I love you, Spike -- and I want to live through the rest of the time I have -- with *you*. Maybe you can’t handle it, alone.” She laughed sadly, shaking her head, compassion and sorrow for what he was going through in her eyes as she added, “I know *I* sure couldn’t. But -- that’s why you have me -- and Dawn. People who love you, and want to help you through this. You just -- you just have to make the choice to go on.”

She took a deep, shaky breath, looking down for a moment before meeting his gaze again, her own both frightened and determined, as she forced out the next words.

“You keep pushing me away, Spike -- but maybe I -- I’m what you need to get through this. Did you ever think of that? I know I -- I *want* to help you get through this,” she confessed softly, glancing down again. “I know I want to be the one person in all the world that you know that you can turn to about *anything*. I want to -- to hold you each and every night, and kiss away the nightmares as they come. Because they *will* come -- but -- I don’t think they’ll be as bad…if you’re not sleeping alone.”

Spike studied her expression for a long moment, his deep, piercing blue eyes searching hers in the dim light, as his mind processed what she was saying, the genuine love and sincerity that motivated her words -- and the fact that she was right.

Chances were, he would never reach the point when he felt that all the pain, all the traumatic memories, all the issues of the past few months were firmly behind him forever, never to be thought of again.

Certainly he would not reach that point alone.

He had to make the choice to go on living -- and the one thing he knew he had to live for was the surrogate family he had found in the Summers girls.

And the love he had found in Buffy.

His eyes began slowly drifting again, leaving her eyes to glance down toward her lips, now stained with tears. He found himself drifting in closer to her, reaching out his hands to rest at her waist and draw her in against him, a soft, tentative smile beginning on his lips as he met her eyes again and murmured softly,

“There’s -- something else I remember -- about that night, love…if I remember right, it…er…ended…something like…”

And in the next moment, their lips met, crashing together with all the intensity of the desire they had been denying for so long.

Inside the darkened theater, the ending credits for the movie began to roll.

And just as that fateful night a year earlier -- the curtains closed on a kiss.


	67. Chapter 67

Buffy found herself gradually pulled from her sleep, and dreams that had become increasingly sweet of late, by an insistent, repetitive sound in the background of her dream. At first, she could barely make it out; it was barely above a whisper…and besides, she was quite thoroughly distracted.

She was lying on the bank of a river, surrounded by the sort of soft, surreal sunlight that only inhabits dreams, with her dream-vampire -- in more ways than one -- lying half beside her, half on top of her, his cool, strong hands gently, leisurely, exploring her body.

She was vaguely aware that the sunlight should have been an issue, but the soft pattering of the water on the rocks, and the shocking, blissful contrast of the sun, and her vampire’s cool hands, on her skin, kept her from questioning it too hard.

Her dream-vampire -- who bore a striking resemblance to her real-life-vampire -- was nipping at her throat with his teeth, alternating kisses with playful bites, while his hands drifted into far more daring territory. Buffy let out a soft moan of pleasure, allowing her own hands to explore the soft, strong angles and lines of his muscular body above her, closing her eyes to focus on the combined sensations of touching and being touched.

Could anyone blame her if she really didn’t *want* to hear that insistent, ever-louder sound in the background that seemed determined to wake her up?

*Probably just the alarm clock,* she thought, her lips forming a pout in her sleep. *Don’t wanna wake up…wanna stay here…*

*But,* she frowned, beginning to feel slightly troubled as the interrupting sound -- now clearly recognizable as a voice -- began to grow more and more urgent, *it doesn’t really sound like my alarm…*

She stood up reluctantly, scanning the area for the source of the sound, aware of the soft, beseeching voice of the vampire behind her.

“Buffy…” he urged her in a tone of protest. “…come back, love…”

*Wait,* she thought she’d spoken the word, but as is the way with dreams, it seemed she’d only thought it…and the sound seemed to have vanished.

“Buffy…”

She suddenly felt cool hands drawing her back down toward the grass, turned to see him kneeling where they had lain, his insistent, pleading grip urging her back down to join him, his blue eyes wide and pleading and tinged with a fear that did not seem to belong in this dream…

“Buffy…please, Buffy…help me…”

 

***********************************

She awoke with a start, immediately aware of what had awakened her, and why, even before she felt the helpless thrashing of Spike’s trembling body beside her. The sheets were yanked off her with a sudden jerk, tangling around him and further intensifying the panic of the dream that gripped him, as she heard again the low moaning sounds that had filled the outer edges of her own dream.

“Buffy…Buffy, love…please…”

“Spike,” she whispered, clearing her throat softly when she found her voice raspy with sleep. “Spike, Sweetie…” She edged nearer to him, trying to pull the entrapping sheets away from him while pulling him gently into her own less restrictive embrace. “…wake up, Spike…it’s just a dream…wake up, Sweetheart…”

For a moment his wild attempts to escape seemed to grow stronger, as a soft little whine of fear and frustration left his throat -- a sound that send a chill through her at the memories it evoked, memories of a time a few months ago when that had been about the only sound he had been capable of, and panic seemed to be his reaction to everything around him.

That weak, terrified version of the vampire she now held in her arms had all but vanished.

All but in his dreams.

“Spike,” she said, her voice a bit stronger, more urgent. “Wake up, Spike! You’re having a nightmare -- you need to wake up!”

She wrapped her strong, gentle arms around him, pinning him close to her, forcefully stilling his struggles in a way that usually served to awaken him within moments. And this time was no exception. She felt the tremor of his muscles as he fought momentarily to break her grip, and then left out a single, strangled cry of fear when he found that he could not, and her heart ached for the fears that still haunted him in his sleep -- though not so often now.

And then -- he was awake.

Blinking, bewildered eyes of crystal blue gazed up at her for a moment, blank and confused -- and then, his hands were clutching her closer to him, his head rested against her chest, as he began to draw in deep gasps of relief, his eyes closed again, though he was far from sleep.

“Buffy,” he whispered, this time with full recognition. “Buffy, love…thank you…thanks, pet…I needed…I - I needed…”

“Me,” Buffy finished softly for him, running her fingertips gently through his disheveled hair, smoothing it back as she gazed down at him in affection and protective concern.

“It’s okay…it was just a dream…”

“I know,” he gulped in a deep draught of air, as he deliberately tried to steady his own breathing, to regain control of the racing adrenaline still coursing through him in the wake of the dream. “I know, Buffy…it’s okay…I’m okay…just a dream…”

“Uh-huh,” Buffy agreed with a nod, pushing him gently up and away from her slightly, smiling as she succeeded in catching his eyes. “And it’s over now. And -- it’s been like, three weeks since the last one. Did you know that?”

Spike stared up at her for a moment, as if not quite comprehending what she was saying, before recognition dawned in his eyes, and his face slowly broke into a soft, tentative smile. Tentative, because there was still a sort of distant, haunted expression in his eyes, as if they were still seeing the images that had filled his nightmare.

“Wanna talk about it?” Buffy asked him softly, reaching out a hand to tenderly touch his cheek when he looked away from her again.

Spike grimaced, visibly shaking the memories away, as he looked up at her apologetically and admitted with a little half-shrug, “Not particularly, love. Same old, is all. Same one I -- I told you about…”

The same nightmare had filled Spike’s dreams every night for nearly a month -- the nightmare that had led him to her side that first night -- but then, he had begun to have restful nights, nights in which they were not awakened even one time by the pain of his memories. And gradually, those nights had become as numerous as the bad nights -- and then, *more* numerous.

And now…

“Three weeks, yeah?” Spike looked back up at her, his smile a little steadier now, his eyes speculative.

Buffy nodded, returning his smile, already sensing where he was headed. “Three weeks.”

She knew what her vampire needed from her.

Connection. Love. Reassurance of who -- and whose -- he was.

“Seems like a milestone, don’t it, love?” Spike commented in a low, soft voice with just a hint of a growl to it -- a sound that sent a tremor from low in her stomach, rumbling gradually lower.

“Uh-huh,” Buffy nodded simply, her eyes shining with desire as her smile widened in delight.

“Cause to celebrate, yeah?” He had risen up on arms that were only slightly trembling now, until he was hovering over her, his eyes locked on hers, smoldering with an intensity of desire, and passion -- and a desperate need.

It was a need that she was more than willing to meet, whenever he found that he felt it.

“You’re my cause to celebrate,” she informed him softly, sliding down the mattress, closing her eyes slightly at the sensation as her bare skin slid against his, until she was lying flat against the bed, beneath him. Her hands slid down across the smooth sheets to rest on his, and she raised her mouth toward his in an invitation to a kiss, as she murmured, “Always…love you so much, Spike…”

He lowered his lips to capture hers, but not before she caught a glimpse of his eyes, and a depth of gratitude there that took her breath -- a gratitude that she did not feel she deserved.

“Need you, Buffy,” he whispered against her lips when he drew back to allow her to draw breath.

The shuddering breath she drew seemed to pull his mouth back down against hers, before she tilted her head back slightly, allowing his lips to continue a worshipful path down the column of her throat, as she gasped out, “Need you…too…Spike…I’m yours…you know I am…”

“Need to be…inside you, Buffy…need to…to know…”

He didn’t have to finish the statement. She knew what her mate needed, knew the wordless reassurance that he sought. She tilted her head further, exposing the month-old marks of his claim, two tiny pinpricks on her throat which had never quite had the time to heal completely.

Not that she really wanted them to.

At the same time as she welcomed him to reclaim her, her hand reached down between them to guide him toward her entrance -- and in moments, they were joined in the eternal embrace that now existed between them. Buffy gasped at the piercing sensation of pleasure-pain as his fangs broke through the tiny marks on her throat, and he began to pull deeply from her hot, potent blood. His body moved within her, as she felt the blood, the strength, of her body flowing out of her.

But it was all right -- because it was flowing into him.

This was her sweet nightly penance -- to give to him until she was trembling and weak and shattered in his hands, helpless beneath his increasingly powerful body above hers -- to know that the vampire who had once been so broken and devastated by her own foolish choices was now free, and strong, and whole, due to the sacrifice of her own life’s blood.

At least -- at first, she had thought of it as a penacne.

Now, it was the sweetest pleasure, to surrender control of her body and heart to the vampire she loved, the one she knew loved her still, in spite of all, more than anything or anyone else in the world. The sweet connection that bound them gave the act of his claim a deeper, more powerful intensity than any other pleasure she had ever enjoyed; and the knowledge of how deeply he needed her filled her with a contentment, a security, that had never marked her previous relationships.

Because he *did* need her.

The nightmares were few now, but no less intense when they came -- and they left Spike shaken, violently thrown back through time, to a place when he had been nothing but a sadist’s helpless toy. The nightmares made him forget the past months of strength and safety, the security he had finally found in Buffy’s love.

They made him forget who he was.

But Buffy helped him to remember again.

Because of the claim that now joined them, her blood spoke to him, sang to him, of what was in *him*, as well as what was in her -- history, emotions, and a strength that was slowly blossoming again within him. Combined with the power of *her* emotions, her love and need for him, and the intensity of strength inherent in her as the Slayer, the potent brew of her blood served to ground him when he was afraid, to refresh his awareness of his strength -- and to remind him of who he was to her -- and to himself.

Just when she was on the edge of feeling too light-headed, on the verge of blacking out, Spike withdrew his fangs, seeming as always to instinctively know her breaking point. He rose carefully up to meet her eyes, and was momentarily stunned by the shock of passion in her wide emerald gaze, matching his own. He held her gaze as he delivered a final, slow but powerful thrust within her, bringing them both to their completion.

Sated, he collapsed gently upon her, his cool mouth laving the wounds at her throat shut, as she sighed happily at the affectionate contact, as the ripples of her climax rumbled through her. As the haze of sweet exhaustion engulfed them both, they fell together into a deep, dreamless sleep.

The nightmares had fled for the moment.

And each was holding their own dream -- a dream which had become reality.


End file.
